


Medicine

by NotManTheLessButNatureMore



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Illness, Murder, Scars, Shanker's shenanigans, Threats of Violence, Wardle snark, drug gang, police investigations, will update tags as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:14:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 24,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22527652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotManTheLessButNatureMore/pseuds/NotManTheLessButNatureMore
Summary: The business has been successfully ticking over and Strike and Robin have been dating for five months, but challenges arrive in the form of a case involving Shanker and a personal struggle for Strike.
Relationships: Ilsa Herbert/Nick Herbert, Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 145
Kudos: 80





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm doing that thing people do where they post the first chapter of a story without having written the whole thing 😬 BUT my muse went on an extended holiday and I lost the ability to write Strike and Robin (with it sounding like them and not weird robots) and it fells like FOREVER since I wrote anything so I'm hoping this will force me to write. I've got a plan of where we are headed, just have to suck the vague scenes out of my brain and put them on paper. Or the internet.
> 
> Will update the tags as the story progresses and there will be some warnings put at the beginning of certain chapters so watch out for that mo chairde!

“This is nice.” Robin said absentmindedly as she put away the various lunch ingredients she had used to make sandwiches.

“Hm?” Strike called from her bedroom.

It was Friday lunch time and a rare day off for the pair. They had worked through last weekend, Strike tailing a businessman to Reading and Robin finalising their tax return and finishing up her own case involving adultery and a slight bit of embezzlement, and Strike had declared the night before that Friday would be a well deserved day off.

“Nothing, just… this is nice.” Robin repeated with a smile creeping onto her face as Strike appeared from her room in dark blue boxers and pulling his jumper on over a white t-shirt.

“Yeah.” He replied as he came closer, popping the kettle on and wrapping an arm around Robin where she stood near the sink. For a moment he could imagine that this place was theirs, the decor and sentimental knick knacks all Robin’s but his clothes in the wardrobe and his beer in the fridge. In the five months since they had started dating they had each evolved to having their clothes scattered between his attic flat and her shared apartment. He would get a text early on a Sunday morning asking if her gym shoes were by his bed and he had bought a second bottle of his favourite aftershave to keep at her place, so often was he left without the morning after an unplanned and barely restrained journey to her apartment, the mirrored lift giving him ideas that Robin’s smirk told him also crossed her mind.

“What do you want to do today?” She asked.

“This.” Strike replied as he leaned down to kiss her neck and inhale the smell of her shampoo.

“What? Stand in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil?” Robin queried with a teasing smile as his beard scratched against her jaw.

“No.” Strike’s hands moved around her waist, moving her back until she hit the counter behind her.

“Then what?”

“This.”

“Cormoran!” Robin squealed as he suddenly pulled her up to sit on top of the kitchen counter, knees either side of his waist and her thin dressing gown parting as if by his command.

“What?” He asked innocently, his eyes now drawn back to her and his lips so close she had to pause before continuing.

“I just made lunch.”

“They’re sandwiches, it’s not like they’ll go cold.”

“I’m hungry.”

“Well so am I.” Strike replied and Robin couldn’t help but smile at the look on his face and the idea that Cormoran Blue Strike was turning down food.

“Food! First! And then we can find something to do for the day.” Robin stated and with one last kiss to her lips Strike grabbed her tightly and pulled her off the counter, holding her close as he surveyed the sandwhiches before Robin pulled away to grab tea bags from the shelf.

Strike’s phone rang distantly while the kettle boiled for a second time and he left Robin to make tea while he grabbed his phone from his trousers at the end of her bed.

“Who was that?” Robin asked when he reemerged a few minutes later as she scrolled through a playlist on her phone and the small bluetooth speaker in the kitchen grudgingly beeped with a connection.

“I’ve got to go.” He replied and when Robin looked up all the playfulness of the morning and night before had been washed from his face.

“What, now? Why?”

“It’s the Reading case. He wants to meet.”

“Today? Why? I thought that was finished.”

“It is but he just wants to talk through some things.” Strike replied as he looked away and began looping his belt through his trousers.

“Well can’t you do it by phone? Or on Monday? Tell him it’s a company training day or something.”

“I can’t, I’ve agreed to meet him for lunch.”

Robin looked at the sandwiches and snacks on the table, the cooling cups of tea and the sunlight pouring in through the window to light up their morning together.

“We have the place to ourselves.” Robin softly said and Strike stepped forward and kissed her on the cheek as her hand came up to grab a handful of his burgundy jumper.

“I know, I’m sorry. We’ll see each other tomorrow at Nick and Ilsa’s.”

“Tomorrow? Why don’t you just come back here after meeting him?”

“I should really get some shopping in and clean the flat. Can’t have my girlfriend coming over unannounced and seeing it in a state.”

Strike held her gaze, his eyebrows raised and a look on his face that she often associated with him trying to placate Wardle when he was in a particular mood or Ilsa when she got too enthusiastic about the future of their relationship during curry night.

“Fine.” Robin sighed and with one gulp of tea, a gathering of his things and a kiss he was gone.

* * *

Strike swung his car past the tall green gates and entered into the shadows cast by the building to his right. This side of London was under grey clouds and the contrast between where he was and Robin’s flat was stark. He slowed the BMW to try and get a glimpse of the multicoloured map that was outside the first building but the writing was too small for him to make out and he didn’t know what colour he should be looking out for. He passed an empty porters cabin and saw a small ‘Place of Safety’ sign almost swallowed completely by the hedge that surrounded it. On his left was a car park and on his right was one long stretch of a sand coloured brick building with two different porches that he could see and security cameras aimed in each direction. One lone NHS worker watched him from where she was leaning on the bonnet of a car parked across the road and smoking the end of a cigarette.

A signpost finally caught Strike’s eye and he discovered that green was the coloured route he should be following. The BMW marched on past more windows that were half obscured by some sort of cover and he heard music play distantly from an open window. As another signpost assured him that he was going in the right direction, now only the green and purple routes left, Strike vaguely wondered if he should have just told Robin the truth and asked her to come with him. A green sign under a front porch with an inverted V roof told Strike that he had found his destination and he swung into a parking space across from the front door.

_What are you doing?_

Strike turned off the engine and sat for a minute, staring at what looked to be a tall oak tree in front of him. It reminded him of long drives with Robin through the countryside on the tail of some clue or suspect. He debated about having a quick smoke before going inside but knew Robin’s disappointed face would just keep him company while he avoided the inevitable.

Strike climbed the two uneven steps at the entrance and took a deep breath as he passed through the sliding doors and came upon a reception desk with a smiling blonde haired woman behind a glass partition.

“I’m looking for Switch, Switch Whittaker.” Strike stated, the old acid creeping into his voice as the word Whittaker left his tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully that was alright! I don't know, I've lost my writing mojo and wrote that in a dash during lunch so I'm not sure. But hey, if it's terrible then there's no pressure to continue, lol.
> 
> Thanks for reading! 😊


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is this? Two chapters in one day? My muse is clearly sucking up to me right now 😊 hopefully it lasts until this fic is finished

Strike was gazing at various information posters that hung on a noticeboard across from the reception desk. After showing ID, repeating Switch’s name, and signing the visitor’s log Strike had listened as the blonde haired receptionist walked behind a partition wall and talked with an unseen man. He strained to hear whether they were discussing Switch or not but various noises drowned out their conversation. They weren’t the kinds of noises Strike had expected, instead he heard the odd name called, a shout of laughter, a phone ringing endlessly and a woman asking whether someone by the name of Deborah wanted the last toffee in the box. Avoiding conversation from the bubbly receptionist Strike read various posters about fire evacuation procedures, a local running club, the timetable for classes at the local gym and a movie night being organised for next week at the nearby library.

There was a windowless grey door beyond the reception desk that Strike’s vision was drawn to. While he had been waiting a very young looking nurse had emerged with a lunch box and gone outside with a sigh and another woman had returned with an Urban Outfitters bag in her hand and a wave to the receptionist. As she disappeared behind the grey door Strike caught a glimpse of a long corridor and someone walking along carrying a plastic box full of something.

“Mr Strike?” The receptionist called, just as Cormoran was wondering what nickname Robin would give the bubbly blonde.

“Yes?”

“You can come through if you want? Switch should be ready any minute.” She said, disappearing around the partition wall and then appearing again behind the grey door.

“You can give him a hand with his things.” She added with a smile as she held the door open.

“Right.” He replied reluctantly. Normally quick to adapt to any situation, Strike felt as though he was crossing some sort of unknown threshold as he followed the receptionist into the psychiatric unit. It wasn’t his first time to enter one, his SIB days had called for a few interviews to be carried out at military hospitals and that had extended to psychiatric units once or twice. But this was different, he didn’t know what to expect from the ward or from Switch.

They veered left once through the door and Strike was quickly ushered down a bright corridor towards a tall black woman who was talking loudly and gesticulating wildly with her hands to someone inside the nearest room. As Strike and the receptionist approached she chuckled and then Switch appeared from behind the door, shouting thanks to someone behind him and carrying an array of things in his arms.

Switch looked up and caught Strike’s eye and all four of them came to stand together in the corridor in what was an awkward encounter. Switch looked from Strike to the black woman who Strike now saw was called Trish according to the ID that was clipped to the right pocket of her trousers. She had a set of keys attached to the other side of her belt and a clipboard was held under her arm.

The receptionist seemed to be deciding, with a rather confused expression, whether she needed to introduce the half brothers or not until Trish put a hand on Switch’s shoulder and looked towards Strike.

“Well, we’ve said our goodbyes. No point sticking around any longer my sunflower.”

Strike and Switch made their way back beyond the grey door, with Switch pausing once more to wave goodbye to an older man who appeared at the bottom of the corridor and then disappeared in another direction. Pulling a desperately needed cigarette from his coat pocket Strike lit up the second they left through the sliding doors.

As Strike came to a stop outside Switch hovered beside him, changing his grip on the possessions in his hand before finally dropping them to the ground, pulling the bag from his back and beginning to pack them away. Strike looked down and noticed that they were all labelled with little white stickers containing Switch’s name. He shoved a charger cable, an aerosol deodorant, headphones with the cable wrapped up in a bow, a bottle of aftershave, a lighter, a razor and a handful of papers and leaflets into his backpack. Strike looked him up and down and noticed the string was gone from the hood of his jumper, his jeans hung around his hips without a belt and his shoes had no laces.

Strike felt a pang of something in his chest as the memory of a wailing baby and Leda’s softly sung lullabies filled his mind. His thoughts quickly drifted towards the array of questions he had until Switch jumped up and smiled awkwardly. He looked away towards the cars and then back, as if at a loss as to what to say.

“So, ‘sunflower’?” Strike asked and Switch just looked down at him as if expecting one to appear.

“Trish called you her sunflower.” Strike explained.

“Oh. Yeah, uh, well she knows my full name and, you know, Bloom.” Switch explained.

“Right.”

Strike took a long drag on his cigarette and wished Robin was there. She’d know what to say and how to say it. His mind drifted to this morning, waking to find their legs tangled together as always and her soft snores coming from the pillow beside him.

_“_ There were art classes too. Sunflowers were the only thing I could draw.” Switch explained with a shrug.

“That’s us.” Strike said with a nod to his BMW parked across the road.

* * *

They were half way towards Denmark Street by the time Switch stopped tapping his fingers on his bouncing knee. Every time they stopped in the London traffic Strike glanced down as the action became more and more irritating.

“This is nice.” Switch said, echoing Robin’s words from earlier and darkening Strike’s mood even more. He had been mentally berating himself for lying to Robin, wondering why his first reaction was to keep her out of this. He supposed it was a knee jerk reaction influenced by his usual dating rule; keep them at arms length, certainly don’t involve them in family drama. _But this is Robin,_ he thought.

“The car, it’s nice.” Switch continued.

“Does the job.” Strike replied.

“Thanks for... this. I wasn’t sure.... maybe you’d.....”

“Your grandparents aren’t around? Or,” the words almost caught in Strike’s throat, “your father?”

“No, I don’t see them anymore.” Switch said firmly. The most sure thing he had said since Strike picked him up.

“Why?”

“Can we... can we talk about that later?” Switch asked as the traffic light turned green and they moved off again.

“There’s a lot to talk about.” Strike remarked and heard Switch take a steadying breath beside him.

The rest of the drive was passed in silence and so too was the walk from Strike’s parking space to the attic flat. They climbed the stairs and Switch hovered close as Strike unlocked the door to his flat and then led him in, grabbing various pieces of clothing as he went and throwing them into the washing machine at the end of the tiny kitchen. Switch stood by the door looking like a child waiting to be told what to do and Strike felt a burst of irritation.

“I have a camp bed in storage downstairs, you can sleep on that.” Strike said and then moved to throw an empty beer bottle in the bin.

“Great.”

“Great.” Strike repeated.

Switch suddenly moved to sit on the arm chair that faced Strike’s old TV. He dropped his bag to the floor and began pulling things out until finally digging his hands in and a pile of books emerged.

“I thought you could borrow some of these if you want? I’ve read them all, they’re good-“

“Where did you get them?” Strike asked. Switch paused and then looked up, his knee bouncing again.

“A visitor.”

“Who?”

“Just a visitor.”

“Switch-“

“You said we could talk about everything later.” He argued and then put the books back into his bag.

“You’re right, I did.” Strike agreed and then watched as Switch looked at his hands and pulled the sleeves of his top down lower to cover them.

“Have you got a scissors?” Switch asked suddenly and Strike’s thoughts jumped back to the pile of things in his arms as they left the hospital.

“Just for this.” Switch held up his wrist to display a plastic bracelet with a nervous smile.

Strike turned and grabbed a scissors from a drawer in the kitchen and walked over to him.

“Don’t worry, didn’t stick it out there for weeks just to off myself on my first day of freedom.” Switch explained with a roll of his eyes that reminded Strike of uncle Ted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So just some brotherly awkwardness! Next chapter should introduce the Shanker storyline! (or at the very least feature Robin, Nick and Ilsa).
> 
> Thanks for reading mis amigos!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have a plot!!

Switch had been putting the shoelaces back into his shoes when Strike returned from the shops. A quick trip to Sainsbury’s to replenish his fridge had been followed by a reluctant journey further up the road to Marks & Spencer when Strike realised he didn’t have any spare pillows, just the two on his bed that he used, one of which Robin wrestled from him each time she stayed over.

Robin.

Strike had gripped his phone in his pocket on the walk to the shop and began imagining the vibration of an incoming call. _Just call her you fucker_ , he berated himself.

Switch had quickly begun putting food away when Strike returned but then faltered when he realised he didn’t know where anything went.

“I’ll get the camp bed later-“

“I can get it!” Switch replied, his enthusiasm to help now only adding to the irritation that Strike felt. He couldn’t help but feel that Switch wasn’t his problem to deal with and yet here they were. And they hadn’t even discussed what exactly the ‘problem’ was or would entail.

“It’s fine, I’ll get it.” Strike said bluntly and watched Switch’s shoulders fall slightly. The camp bed was stored in a closet downstairs with various office cleaning supplies and a giant box of off-brand tea bags that a temporary secretary had once ordered and Strike refused to drink. For more than one reason Strike didn’t want Switch wandering around the office alone.

“Maybe we could...“ Switch’s voice trailed off as Cormoran’s phone buzzed and he answered it without even checking the screen.

“Robin, I was just g-“

“Christ, it was bad enough when you were pining after her, now-“

“Wardle?”

“No, it’s the Easter bunny.” Wardle replied and Strike rolled his eyes.

“What do you want?” He added briskly.

“What do I want? I want to not have to clean up your messes but-“

“Wardle!”

“Fine. Your mate Shanker-“

“What about him?”

“I’m about to arrest him on suspicion of murder.” Wardle’s tone turned more serious.

“What?” Strike blurted out, aware of Switch watching him intently.

“Meet me in the next half an hour, I’ll text you the address. And bring your better half.” Wardle replied before ending the call.

“Who was that?” Switch asked, now standing with one hand brushing up and down the other forearm.

“Just, someone. Look I have to leave for a bit.” Strike said, turning and quickly grabbing his wallet, keys and the small black notebook he used for interviews and shoving them into his coat pockets before double checking his matches and cigarettes were already inside.

“Should I stay here?” Switch asked and Strike turned to look at him, his dark hair in need of a trim and pale face in need of a shave, sleeves pulled down and the ends wrapped up in tightly closed fists. Something was pulling at Strike, telling him not to leave Switch but the want and need to get away from the reminder of Whittaker outweighed any judgement.

“I’ll be back later.”

* * *

“Pack it in lover boy.” Wardle said with an annoyed snarl.

“What?” Strike replied from where he stood on the edge of the curb watching the direction Robin should be arriving from as Vanessa sighed between the two of them.

“You look like Romeo waiting for Juliet to let down her hair.” Wardle explained as he checked his watch. Vanessa and Strike both turned at the same time to throw a look of disbelief at the detective.

“Have you read Romeo and Juliet?” Vanessa asked.

“Piss off.” Wardle mumbled sheepishly.

“Nice to know I look like Romeo.” Strike offered, garnering the smallest of smiles from Vanessa at Wardle’s expense.

“A fat, old Romeo.” He replied and Vanessa sighed again, shaking her head before spotting Robin crossing the road to meet them.

“Thank god.” She whispered.

“Sorry, signal failure on the jubilee line.” Robin explained. She squeezed Strike’s hand as she came to stand beside him but quickly pulled away again, which didn’t go unnoticed by Wardle.

“That’s alright. He’s this way.”

Wardle led them to a police car sitting at the end of a car park behind a row of shops, the area deserted except for a few squad cars and a forensics van sitting further ahead.

Shanker was in the back of the car, handcuffed and looking ready to punch the nearest copper. Wardle opened the door and pulled him out, roughly pushing his head away from the door frame.

“Shanker, what happened?” Robin asked but Wardle cut off any comment Shanker was about to make.

“One of the heads of a local drug gang was found dead back there,” Wardle pointed towards the forensics van before continuing, “and your mate here was found outside.”

“Don’t mean I killed ‘im you fuckin’-“

“Shanker!” Robin and Strike both said.

“What? A milkman was over ‘ere too, didn’t arrest him though.” Shanker snarled at Wardle, his gold tooth shining in the light of a dull London evening. Strike just glared at him and turned to Wardle.

“What do you know?”

“Jamie Eldridge, thirty six, known to police since he was fourteen and there’s been a hit out on him for the last month or so. He was stabbed, more than once for sure and dumped behind the bins over there.”

“Rose up the ranks of a local drug gang fairly quickly and has been a major player for a few years now.” Vanessa added.

“And what’s Shanker’s connection?” Robin asked.

“He was here.” Wardle replied, his irritation showing.

“So was the milkman.” Robin replied, glancing at Shanker and Strike who both failed to hide a smile.

“The milkman doesn’t have a criminal record.” Vanessa countered.

“That’s police bias, that.” Shanker replied and Wardle tightened his grip on his arm.

“Why did you call us down here? It wasn’t just to gloat about arresting Shanker.” Strike asked.

“I have an idea.” Wardle replied and Robin frowned when Vanessa shook her head.

“What?” Strike asked warily.

“Shanker knows some rival gang members,” Robin and Strike both glared at Shanker as Wardle continued, “and it would benefit his case immensely if he helped us with collecting information.”

“His case?” Robin frowned.

“He assaulted the police officer that arrested him.” Vanessa explained.

“Shanker!” Robin groaned.

“‘e grabbed me, it was self defence.”

“So, where do we come in?” Strike asked and Wardle began unlocking Shanker’s handcuffs.

“I figured he’d be less likely to double cross us if you were involved. We have a good relationship going, would be a shame if anything were to upset that.” Wardle explained with a look thrown towards Shanker and Strike just sighed. Robin watched him as he brought a hand up to rub his forehead.

“Fuck’s sake.” Strike mumbled before nodding agreement. Wardle pulled the handcuffs free and Shanker stepped towards Robin and Strike.

“Pleasure doin’ business with ya.” Shanker grinned back at Wardle.

“Denmark Street, 9am tomorrow.” Wardle said as he pointed at Strike and Shanker.

Strike and Shanker moved away and Strike heard Robin say a quiet thanks to Wardle and Vanessa before joining them.

“Right Bunsen, I’ll just uh” Shanker nodded towards the road and moved to make a quick exit but Robin grabbed his arm.

“Wait Shanker, we have to talk about this.”

Shanker and Robin both looked to Strike who appeared to be nursing a freshly blooming headache.

“Why don’t we go back to the office?” Robin suggested.

“No!” Strike quickly answered. “Tomorrow. We’ll talk tomorrow. Before Wardle and Vanessa arrive. We can make a plan.” Strike stammered and Robin’s eyes narrowed.

“What’s wrong with today?” Robin asked. Thoughts of getting a takeaway and eating it together at the office or in Cormoran’s flat slightly relieving the disappointment of their cancelled plans.

“I just ca….”

_Tell her you idiot!_

“Comoran?” Robin asked, her eyes were full of concern and Strike felt a weight lift from him and the warmth of the past five months settle once more.

“Can we get a coffee?” He asked, taking her hand in his as she agreed and nodding for Shanker to follow along with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think I'm rusty when it comes to writing Shanker and Wardle (and everyone really) but hopefully that will improve!
> 
> (as always) Thanks for reading!
> 
> Also, I'm thiiiiinking I'm not gonna connect this story to the other one I wrote that involves Switch. I just don't think I'd tie up all the loose ends very well, but I'm also not sure how this story fits if I don't connect the two. *sigh* I also ended up not liking that other story so it'd be nice to not have to revisit it, lol. But if anyone has read it and has a strong opinion on the connection then let me know. (My indecision is also probably a reason I've been avoiding the Strike and Switch talk in this one so hopefully that will happen soon and then the awkwardness will go away 😬)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should probably say now that I have no experience with drug gangs beyond what we all hear/read in the news. Which would seem slightly more impressive if you knew whereabouts in Dublin I grew up, lol.

“So ‘ow long’s ‘e been in the nut house then?” Shanker asked, earning a smack in the shoulder from Robin.

“A few weeks.” Strike replied.

They had found seats in the back corner of a shabby cafe across the road from where Strike had parked the BMW before meeting Wardle. To Strike’s utter relief Robin had taken in her stride the news that he’d lied about where he disappeared to that morning. For a moment she had gone quiet, Shanker glancing between the two of them with a concerned expression, and then she’d simply nodded and begun asking questions.

“‘at’s the Whittaker blood in ‘im.” Shanker snarled, his attention going back to the mug of tea in front of him.

“He might not be anything like Whittaker.” Robin said, cold hands wrapped around her coffee.

“He reminds me a little of uncle Ted.” Strike said quietly, eyes on the polka dot plate in front of him with the remains of a slice of chocolate cake that he had practically inhaled by the time Robin sat down with her coffee.

“Like you then?” Robin asked tentatively but Cormoran quickly straightened in his chair and looked away.

“So who are these gang members you know?” Robin said turning to look at Shanker.

“I wanna know more abou’ Whittaker’s kid-“

“Answer the question Shanker.” Strike glowered.

“They’re just friends of a friend. Not like we exchange Christmas presents.”

“But Wardle knows about this friendship?” Strike asked, an eyebrow quirked.

“Well ‘e has ‘em under surveillance doesn’t ‘e?” Shanker explained, sounding irritated.

“And he’s seen you with them?” Robin asked quietly as an old man squeezed between Strike and the next table.

“Suddenly a bloke can’t ‘ave a drink with a mate without a fuckin’ copper sniffin’-“

“Shanker, just... shut up, I’m not in the mood.” Strike sighed, raising one hand to massage his temples.

Robin reached across the table to run her thumb over the knuckles of his other hand. The cafe was now lit entirely by the fluorescent bulbs hanging above, the winter sun having disappeared below the horizon of dull, brick buildings.

“I better get going.” Shanker said, rising to pull his jacket from the back of his chair.

“Don’t say anything-“ Strike began.

“-to anyone, yeah, yeah. Not a complete twat, am I?”

“Yes, actually.” Strike replied with a glare.

Shanker left, muttering various curse words and Wardle’s name under his breath, and Robin pulled her chair close to Cormoran’s.

“I’m sorry.” Strike said.

“I know.” Robin replied and drained the last of her coffee.

“I should have just told you this morning.” Strike continued, “I don’t know why I didn’t.”

“Maybe because you always have to deal with everything on your own?” Robin ventured, eyebrows raised.

“Guess I’m still working on that.” Cormoran replied sheepishly and Robin just smiled softly.

“Mm. I suppose it’s only been five months, takes a baby six months to learn to eat solids.”

“Are you calling me a baby?” Strike blurted out causing Robin to laugh and wrap an arm around his and pull herself closer. The worrying image of Robin researching baby milestones entered Strike’s mind only to be quickly pushed to one side.

Robin picked up his fork and gathered together the last few crumbs of chocolate cake and Cormoran was reminded of Switch sitting in the flat. He probably wouldn’t know how to work the temperamental heating system or dodgy oven.

“Left to clean up another one of Whittaker’s fucking messes.” Strike murmured and Robin put her hand on the back of his neck to rub circles in his hair. He heard her take a deep breath and the circling stopped.

“I know I wasn’t there when everything happened but... what I do know is that Switch was just a baby when he lost his mum.” Robin began tentatively, “And he lost his big brother and sister as well. And an uncle that could have taught him to sail and an aunt that would have baked his favourite cake every birthday.”

“Is this supposed to tug on my heart strings?” Strike asked, watching Robin from the corner of his eye. She just sighed and continued.

“No. But he’s clearly rejected Whittaker. And all I’m saying is... I know you look at him and just see Whittaker’s kid, but he can be your mum’s son too.” Robin finished gently and moved her arm down to lie across his shoulders.

Strike let out a long sigh and looked at Robin and then to the street outside.

“Are you that cheesy with all our clients?” He asked, his mouth quirking on one side and Robin feigned offence.

“Gets the job done doesn’t it?” She asked, her other hand coming to rest on his thigh.

“Suppose.” He replied, covering her hand with his own.

* * *

Strike and Robin had parted reluctantly, very reluctantly on Strike’s part after a long goodbye kiss when he dropped Robin back to her flat. They had agreed to meet at the office the next morning before Wardle and Vanessa were due, the opportunity to introduce Robin to Switch going unsaid.

Strike slowly made his way up the stairs to the attic flat, the camp bed under one arm and a bag of beer bottles jingling in the other. The door was unlocked, as he had left it, and Strike mentally added ‘ _spare set of keys_ ’ to the mental list of things he needed to sort out but then his thoughts faltered; the attic flat was tiny with just him living there, and Switch couldn’t sleep on a camp bed for long. But where would he go?

Deciding he was too tired to think about those things now, Strike pushed the door open and noticed the flat was shrouded in silent darkness. Kicking the door shut behind him, Strike put the bag of beer bottles on the kitchen counter and rounded the corner to find Switch asleep in Strike’s arm chair. His bag was at his feet and one book sat on the coffee table, as well as an empty plate and the chipped ‘I Heart Cornwall’ mug that Cormoran had replaced with a new one in the summer. His face was soft in sleep and he looked much younger, more relaxed. In the dark flat, lit only by the blue moonlight, Strike could imagine another life. He could imagine Leda rounding a corner and calling them all for dinner. Not for something she had cooked, Cormoran thought with a smile, instead aunt Joan’s shepherds pie. Lucy would appear from the kitchen, her own apron on, and Ted would come in from the garden. Robin’s hand would be in his, dragging him up from the couch and then he’d wake Switch. That was where the dream ended, and as Strike sat on his bed his thoughts swirled as he watched his sleeping brother.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING, WARNING, DANGER, DANGER: Soooo this chapter contains references to self harm. Nothing actually takes place but the thoughts about it are there so if that isn't something you want to read then wait around for the next chapter instead. You won't miss anything plot-wise, just some... character development, I guess, for Switch.
> 
> ***In case it isn't clear the bits in italics are Switch's thoughts. Not sure how successful I was in switching the POV for a chapter***

Switch had woken at some point in the dead of night. The flat was still dark and the sound of a reversing bin lorry for a moment confused him, who half expected to see a torchlight make its way across the room to find his eyes. He heard a hushed curse and looked across the small flat to see Cormoran half asleep and fumbling with his leg. He was dressed still in dark trousers and a burgundy jumper. Switch looked away when he saw Strike stand and pull his trousers and then his leg off, but Cormoran didn’t seem aware that he was awake or watching him. After pulling his jumper off and throwing it towards the bottom of the bed, Strike got into bed in his shirt and boxers. After a long sigh from the private detective the flat was still once more.

Switch looked around briefly and saw the camp bed set up against the far wall, leaving just enough space for someone to pass from one end of the flat to the other. His things were still where he had left them, the plate and mug gone. He felt a quick flash of uselessness at the thought of Strike cleaning up after him, and then quickly forced down the thoughts of what an imposition his being there was, not wanting the fullness in his chest it would bring to spill out.

As soon as Switch shut his eyes it seemed to be morning. A bang woke him with a startle until he remembered where he was and then realised Strike was in the bathroom. The sky outside was grey, as if Mother Nature had arranged to match the weather to Switch’s mood as he thought of the day ahead and felt the familiar heavy emptiness and dread. He sat up and stretched, stiff from spending the night in the armchair, and a dull sting crawled part way along his arm. He pulled his sleeves lower, imagined them stretching all the way past his wrists, hands and fingertips to trail along the ground. He almost sighed as familiar thoughts began to form and awaken for the day.

“Tea?” Strike’s voice was loud and gruff and pulled Switch from his thoughts. Two mugs sat on the kitchen countertop and the toaster’s red light was on. Strike was fully dressed, his eyebrows raised in expectance as he waited for Switch’s response.

_Boiling kettle, burnt hands._

“Switch?”

“Hm?”

“Tea?”

“Yeah, yes please.” He answered and then watched Cormoran flick the kettle on and pull two slices of bread from the toaster.

_The knife by the plate of toast, sliced knees._

Strike spread jam on his toast while the kettle boiled and then walked over to where Switch was sitting. He turned on the TV and BBC News flashed up on the screen with a headline about NHS cuts.

_The TV remote, bruised arms. The coffee table, bruised shins._

Switch suddenly felt awkward, knowing he was invading Strike’s usual morning routine and wanting to vacate the only arm chair but not knowing where to stand or where else to sit. There was the chair at the tiny kitchen table but it had a towel thrown across the back of it and a few different folders were scattered across the table.

“There’s bread there if you want toast, or cereal. I think there’s Corn Flakes.” Strike said as he opened the fridge and bent over to grab the milk.

“Thanks.” Switch replied, his eyes moving to the raspberry jam spread upon Strike’s toast and then swiftly away again. Switch’s foot started to tap on the floor and his eyes flashed towards the bathroom.

_Stop!_

“Everything okay?” Strike asked.

“Yeah. Why?” Switch replied as the kettle finished boiling with a click.

_Boiling kettle, burnt hands._

“Do you take sugar?” Strike asked as he poured water into the mugs and the tea bags bobbed to the top.

“Just one, thanks.”

“You sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Switch replied with a smile. Voices from the TV filled the room as Strike waited for the tea to brew and then brought a mug over to Switch.

“Thanks.” Switch mumbled. He took a sip of tea and then frowned at the stewed taste and found Strike to be watching him carefully. Strike came to stand leaning against the wooden beam to his left.

_The beam, bruised arms._

Switch’s eyes were drawn back to the kitchen.

_A shattered jam jar, cut hands._

“-and Shanker. We have-“

“Who?” Switch asked.

“Shanker. He, uh...,” Strike frowned and Switch saw that he didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to talk to him. Switch’s hands clenched as he felt electricity run through his arms and he wanted to leave, wanted Strike to stop looking at him.

“He used to live with us, for a while.”

“Us?” Switch asked, feeling as though he was missing parts of the conversation but his attention kept having to do battle to stay with Strike.

“With mum and, well after you were born he wasn’t around as much and then I went to Uni and...” Strike sighed and looked around, grabbing a notebook on the coffee table and moving it to the kitchen. “We can talk about all that... soon.” As Strike smiled and looked at his watch Switch felt a stab of pain, the kind that sliced across his chest and left static in its wake.

“Robin will be here soon-“

“Your girlfriend?”

“Yes, and my partner. We work together-“

“Downstairs?”

“Yes, downstairs.”

There was a moment of silence as words raced through Switch’s mind and then Strike was talking again.

“-toothpaste and deodorant. The shower can get stuck on cold, just keep turning the knob, and there’s a clean towel on the radiator.”

_Bathroom, razors, cut knees and elbows_.

_Stop! Stop, stop, stop._

“Okay.” Switch nodded.

Strike finished his toast in a few quick bites and gathered his things together, including cigarettes and matches-

_Matches, burnt wrists, yellow stains, red wounds._

-and grabbed his mug of tea. Switch stood awkwardly, shoulders hunched and running a hand along his other forearm.

“My number is written on that notepad over there, and Robin’s just in case.” Strike said as he opened the door, the instruction not to ring Robin unless it was life or death being clear by his tone.

“Okay.”

“WiFi password is on the modem.” He said as he pulled the door closed and then Switch was alone.

He looked from his small corner of the flat; his bag still packed and his book on the chair he had slept in. His mug of tea was cooling on the coffee table and Switch walked towards the kitchen, looking from the toaster to the possible location of the Corn Flakes Strike had mentioned. He looked back towards the bathroom and then to the fridge, trying to counter the thoughts creeping tighter around him with others more focused.

_Boiling water, tea, cereal, toast, broken glass, sliced knees, bruised legs, the TV, a half-read book, WiFi, broken glass, sliced knees, bruised legs, shower, razor, sliced elbows, sliced knees, bruised legs, matches, burnt wrists, boiling water, tea, cereal, toast..._

The sounds of early morning in London and the soft shuffling coming from downstairs were his only company as he began to pace alone around the small attic flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how well that turned out. I didn't want to gloss over the fact that Switch having been on a mental health ward clearly means that he does have some issues. But it's also hard to put that kind of stuff into words. A more skilled writer would have done it better but I'm working with the tools I've got. 🙃 Anywhooooo......
> 
> Edit: I now realise the responsible thing to do would be to suggest some websites juuuuust in case you’re reading this and struggling with self harm/injury yourself and want some support!  
> Samaritans.org (as a rule don’t specifically offer SH advice/insight but do listen to you and have an email service. However if you specifically want SH help one of the sites below might be best.)  
> www.mind.org.uk/information-support/types-of-mental-health-problems/self-harm/about-self-harm/ (lots of info but be warned they mention ways of doing it so family/friends can understand but it’s hidden so you can ‘easily’ skip it.  
> Lifesigns.org.uk (help with understanding/living with it/stopping/first aid etc)  
> TheMix.org.uk (MH all rounder with some good SH articles - offers great 1-2-1 online chat and a crisis line)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING, WARNING, DANGER, DANGER: there are descriptions of self harm scars mentioned in this chapter. Nothing graphic and they are just scars after all, but I thought I'd mention it here in case anyone doesn't want to read about that kind of thing. If you want to skip, again I don't think you'd be lost plot-wise if you just wait around for the next chapter :)

“Does he have any appointments?” Robin asked as Strike traced circles on her back where she sat beside him on the arm of the couch with a morning brew in hand.

“I don’t know.” Cormoran replied as he stretched his bad leg out in front of him. He had woken in the night after falling asleep with his prosthetic still on and his stump hadn’t forgiven him yet.

“Well what if he needs a lift? Or money for the tube? Does he have an Oyster card?” Robin continued. Her mind had clearly been ticking over all night as she’d begun asking questions before Strike could even kiss her good morning.

“Cormoran!”

“What?”

“Well, did you talk about anything?”

“I told you, he was asleep when I got home.”

“What about this morning? He’s clearly awake, we’ve been listening to him move about.” Robin said with her eyes thrown to the ceiling.

“He... I dunno, was in a mood or something.”

“A mood?”

“Yes, a mood.”

“What kind of mood?”

“Just a mood.” Strike said, his voice raised slightly but Robin just rolled her eyes.

“For a private detective you’re not very perceptive when it comes to your own brother.” Robin said.

“Half brother.” Strike corrected her.

“Well you need to talk to him, properly talk to him.” Robin said as the door opened to reveal Wardle and Vanessa and the smell of strong coffee and pastries.

“Talk to who?” Wardle said as he passed a brown paper bag to Robin.

“No one.” Strike replied with a dark look that dared Wardle to dig in with one of his usual snarky remarks.

Robin pulled a croissant from the bag and then passed a danish to Strike.

“Where’s Shanker?” Vanessa asked as she glanced down towards Strike’s inner office.

The was a bang upstairs and all four looked above. Wardle looked back down at Strike and narrowed his eyes.

“Is he hiding upstairs?” The detective asked.

“No.”

Wardle held Strike’s gaze and then moved towards the door.

“Wardle!” Strike had stood quickly and was using his full height and bulk to make his warning clear.

“So who’s upstairs?” Wardle asked with a glance thrown towards Vanessa.

“No one.”

“No one? Almost as rare a name as Cormoran.” Wardle said as he pulled on the door, but before he could open it fully Robin called out.

“Wardle, don’t! It’s not Shanker, I promise.”

“So where is he?”

“Late. He’ll be here soon.” Strike answered, his voice gruff.

There was another bang and Strike cursed under his breath. Robin jumped up off the arm of the couch and handed her tea to Vanessa.

“I’ll be back in a minute.” She said as she made her way to the door but Strike caught her arm, aware of Vanessa and Wardle’s suspicion looks.

“It’s fine. I’ll just check everything‘s okay.” Robin said quietly to Strike, and before he could stop her she was out the door.

“Got another woman writing upstairs Gooner?”

“Piss off.”

* * *

As Robin gently pushed the door open she heard a muffled curse followed by what sounded like a plastic bottle falling into a sink.

“Switch?” Robin called as she stepped inside and saw him by the kitchen sink. He had his back to her and he froze the moment she called his name. He looked back over his shoulder and smiled nervously, looking past her and probably expecting Cormoran to be with her.

“Hi, I’m Robin.” She said with a wide smile and a small amount of trepidation as she stepped forward and shut the door behind her. He had what looked to be a jumper half in the sink and the tap was dripping.

“Hope you haven’t ruin-“

“Cormoran’s girlfriend?” Switch interrupted before apologising and turning away.

“That’s okay. Yes, Cormoran’s girlfriend. And his-“

“Work partner. He said. You work downstairs.”

“Yes. Do you need some help?” Robin smiled and stepped forward and saw that Switch had a bottle of washing up liquid open and seemed to be washing a stain out of his jumper. There was a half eaten bowl of Corn Flakes on the counter nearby.

“No, it’s okay. I just, I spilt tea and...” Switch motioned towards the jumper in his hands.

“Well there should be some,” Robin pulled open a cabinet and began rooting around as Switch watched, “ah, here it is.” Robin pulled a pink tub of stain remover out and began scooping some powder out.

“Thanks.” Switch said as he watched, smiling at the kindness that radiated from her. Feeling slightly more at ease for the first time since he’d woken.

Robin went to take the jumper from him and then paused as she saw his pale arms. Half way between the sleeve of his T-shirt and his elbow there was a long thin burn mark, faded to a light red colour and with puckered, dry edges. The side of the elbow closest to her had an ageing green bruise the size of a £2 coin and there were some marks of various shades of red and purple scattered across his right hand, wrist and forearm. Many were almost faded away completely, one long scar looked almost silver in the middle with the slightest of pink outlines. Robin looked up quickly but Switch had already spotted where her eyes had been and he pulled back, eyes on the floor and a look of shame and disappointment on his face.

“I didn’t mean to-“ Robin began but Switch stepped back.

“I’ll wash it later, don’t worry.” He said, indicating the jumper, before walking over to where the TV and armchair were. Robin quickly rinsed away the stain remover and then threw the jumper over the back of Strike’s lone kitchen chair.

Switch was digging inside his backpack, various bits and pieces being pulled out. Robin watched him pack everything away again when he found a long sleeved shirt.

He didn’t have the same build as Cormoran, Switch was wiry and thin although still tall, but when he looked at her, only glancingly but still deeply, and then away again it was like Robin was watching another version of Cormoran from another life.

“Switch-“

“I’ll just...” He interrupted, nodding towards the bathroom and disappearing inside. Robin watched him go and then sighed as worry and sadness battled for her attention. She wondered how much exactly Strike knew about Switch.

The camp bed by the side wall caught Robin’s attention and she looked around the room as an idea came to her.

* * *

“Alrigh’ Bunsen?” Shanker said as he entered the office, ignoring Wardle and Vanessa who were both leaning against Robin’s desk.

“Shanker.” Strike said by way of greeting from where he sat on the couch.

“Nice of you to join us.” Wardle sneered.

“Did you ‘ear an ‘oink oink’ Bunsen?” Shanker said, grinning when he saw Wardle roll his eyes.

“Play nice Shanker.” Strike drawled as he stood, trying to hide a wince when his stiff knee pulled.

“I’ll call Robin.” Vanessa said but light thuds on the stairs told them that she was already on the way down.

Robin’s form appeared behind the frosted glass and then the door opened to reveal a slightly out of breath Robin with her hair pulled into a messy ponytail. Strike’s eyebrows furrowed along with Wardle’s and Vanessa raised an eyebrow.

“Morning Shanker.” Robin said as she pulled her hair loose, the golden waves cascaded down, making Strike wish they were alone together.

“Switch still upstairs?” Shanker asked and Wardle turned to Strike.

“Switch? Your brother Switch?” He asked.

“‘ow many people called Switch do you-“ Shanker began before Strike interrupted.

“Half-brother. And Yes.” Strike replied as Robin came to stand beside him.

“Whittaker’s son?” Vanessa asked, spitting out the name in a way that would have made Strike proud.

“Yes.” Strike said, louder than he’d intended.

“What’s he doing upstairs?” Wardle asked.

“What’s it to you?” Shanker asked, stepping towards Wardle and squaring his shoulders as Robin moved forward, still keeping a hand on Cormoran’s elbow.

“Hey, we’re supposed to be working together, remember?” Robin said with a smile as Shanker and Wardle just grimaced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll get to some action eventually I promise! And to a Strike and Switch heart to heart. And to a Robin and Switch heart to heart. And even some kind Ilsa and Nick moments. 
> 
> Can't promise that I'll get as much written in the next few days but hopefully another chapter or two this week :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warning today folks, proceed with abandon.

“So you just need to get him to admit to it and we’ll do the rest.” Wardle finished.

“Easy.” Strike muttered.

“And wha’ if he won’ admit to it?” Shanker asked before taking a gulp of his tea.

“You keep trying.” Vanessa warned.

“Is this really safe? Shanker isn’t a police officer, what if something happens?” Robin asked, her worry about what Shanker was getting involved with had only increased during their conversation.

“Don’t worry Robin, got nine lives me.” Shanker smiled wide, gold tooth on show.

“I’m sure you do.” Wardle said quietly, watching him sideways with lingering suspicion. He was still waiting for the results from DNA and fingerprint tests from the scene of Jamie Eldridge’s murder, but he also knew that if Shanker was anything more than a petty criminal Strike wouldn’t maintain a relationship with him, and certainly wouldn’t let him be around Robin.

“We’ll meet you here Monday afternoon and then follow you-“ Vanessa began.

“Keepin’ a distance though yeah? Can’t have everyone finding out I’m a grass.” Shanker complained with a frown.

“Don’t worry, there’ll be a mic on you to catch anything you hear. We’ll just be nearby in case you need rescuing.” Wardle smirked and Cormoran could already feel his headache return at the thought of Wardle and Shanker working together.

“We should get back.” Wardle announced and Shanker also moved to put his empty mug back in the kitchenette.

“After you.” Shanker said with a bow as Wardle zipped up his leather jacket and Vanessa turned towards Robin.

“Should I bring anything to Ilsa’s next week?” She asked quietly but Wardle still heard.

“What’s happening at Ilsa’s?” He asked with chin raised in interest.

“Girls night.” Vanessa said, her face blank as she turned back to look at him.

“Right.” The detective replied, glancing between Vanessa, Robin and Strike.

“Not invited then?” Shanker asked with a grin and Strike held in a smirk at the irritated look on Wardle’s face.

“Wouldn’t wanna spend more time with Gooner’s lot anyway.” Wardle replied and with that he was out the door.

“See you on Monday.” Vanessa followed him out, pulling the zip on her jacket up high in preparation for the cold, grey day that awaited.

“Am I invited to this party then?” Shanker asked when the office door had once again closed.

“No criminals allowed.” Strike said as he walked around to Robin’s desk.

“That’s offensive Bunsen.” He said with a hand on his heart.

“It’s just a girls night Shanker.” Robin explained with a smile and came to stand beside Strike who had sat on her desk chair.

“Oh righ’, well enjoy the pillow fights then.”

Robin rolled her eyes with a shake of her head as Shanker left. Strike’s hand came up to wrap around her waist as he pulled her close.

“I didn’t know Vanessa was invited.” He said quietly as he leaned his forehead against her hip.

“Well she and Ilsa met at my birthday, and they’ve been talking in the group chat since then. We figured it was time we had a girls night.” Robin ran her hand through his hair, combing through a few strands at the back that were standing on end.

“That’s good.” He sighed softly, Robin not sure whether he was talking about girls night or her fingers running through his hair.

A noise upstairs drew Robin’s thoughts back to Switch.

“You should go talk to him.” She said, bending down to press a kiss to the crown of his head, intending then to pull away but Strike held her close.

“It’s the weekend.”

“So?”

“So we should be in your bed,” he said as he pulled her down into his lap, “or on your couch, or in the sh-“

“-at Nick and Ilsa’s?” Robin interrupted.

“What?”

“Brunch, remember?” She said and Strike slumped back in the chair. As much as he was enjoying Ilsa’s new enthusiasm for cooking, he’d much rather drive to Robin’s apartment and spend the day and night there forgetting about Switch upstairs and everything else except Robin lying underneath him or on top.

With a groan Strike stood, pulling Robin with him and they kissed deeply and then softly before parting, Robin heading in the direction of Sainsbury’s to buy a bottle of wine and a dessert and Strike off to talk to Switch.

“Remember that he’s ill.” Robin said, pausing on the stairs before continuing on down and Strike watched her go thinking that there was something more in her words that he should have known.

* * *

When Strike walked into the flat Switch quickly turned from where he was crouched on the floor by Strike’s bed.

“Sorry, I, Robin said you had books under your bed and that I could,” Switch pulled out a Benjamin Black paperback from the pile, a gas lamp and the architecture on the front belying the period.

“Yeah, yeah.” Strike nodded a few times as Switch seemed to relax.

Looking around the flat Strike realised why Robin had returned to the office looking like she had been up to something. The camp bed had been moved to the other end of the flat and the armchair and TV moved nearer to the kitchen, effectively giving them both their own space. Switch’s pile of books was by the camp bed, now with an extra blanket on it, and acted as a makeshift bedside table with his headphones and a bottle of deodorant balanced on top.

“Get breakfast alright?” Strike asked as he threw his cigarettes on the kitchen counter.

“Yeah, thanks. Just had some Corn Flakes. I can replace them when, uh-“

“It’s fine, don’t worry. Just don’t drink all the beer.” Strike smiled.

Looking at the small kitchen table Strike noticed that as well as various pamphlets that Switch had had in his hands when they left the hospital, there was a sheet of paper with four squares marked out on it and a pen sitting alongside. Strike’s curiosity got the better of him and he saw that two boxes had ‘Pro’ written at the top and the other two had ‘Con’. Switch’s spidery script was just about to untangle when he appeared in front of the table and quickly folded the sheet of paper in half.

“Sorry.” Strike said quickly. Switch just smiled nervously and then went and sat on the camp bed.

“I think we-“

“I might-“

Both men started and then stopped, Strike sighing and Switch looking away before trying again.

“I might go for a walk, if you want to come?” Switch then glanced down at Strike’s leg and away just as quick, Strike groaned internally knowing that Switch would have noticed the crutches in the corner and the creams and gels on his shelf always in their white medical looking tubes. That would be another conversation to add to the list.

“Actually, I think we should talk.”

“About what?” Switch asked, a hand coming up to rub his forehead.

“About how you are.”

“I’m fine.” He answered quickly. A smile just about made it to his lips but his eyes were alarmed and eyebrows furrowed. He looked pale and tired, Strike thought.

“Switch, you were on a psych ward yesterday.” Strike realised it was the wrong thing to say when Switch’s face dropped and he looked away, a veil of shame and embarrassment covering his face.

“I’m gonna go for a walk.”

“Switch.”

He grabbed the sheet of paper and pamphlets and stuffed them into his bag while Strike moved towards the door.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I think we should talk.”

“Well I don’t.” It was the first bit of force that Strike had sensed from Switch and he felt like he’d been thrust into a world where he had a teenager to deal with. A vague memory came to mind of an argument he’d had at sixteen with uncle Ted when he’d come home early one Sunday morning smelling of beer.

“I’m going for a walk.” Switch repeated and started packing his things away again, the pile of books falling to the floor.

“What are you doing?” Strike asked.

Switch just ignored him and kept stuffing things in his bag but his efforts were uncoordinated and he dropped things to the ground as often as he got them into his bag, cursing to himself along the way.

“Switch, stop. Look, where are you gonna go?” Strike asked, beginning to lose his patience. Switch had paused and Strike saw his shoulders slump as he sat back where he had crouched over his bag on the floor.

“Look,” Strike sighed, “if you don’t want to talk now, we can wait-“

“Okay.”

“-but we do need to talk soon. I mean it.” Strike argued, his look pointed and eyebrows raised.

“Just not now, please.” Switch’s voice was quiet and when he looked up Strike thought he seemed like someone asking for a life raft. Knowing he’d probably regret it but not knowing what more to say, and wishing Robin was there, Strike decided to change subjects.

“Are you hungry?”

“I just ate.” Switch replied, confused and glancing at the empty bowl in the kitchen.

“Well that’s never stopped me. Come on, we’re going to brunch.” Strike said as he walked towards his end of the flat to grab a jumper.

“Brunch?” Switch asked.

“Yeah, Ilsa insists on calling it that now. But it’s just food and a few beers.” Strike replied as he made his way to the fridge to grab some bottles of Doom Bar.

“Who’s Ilsa?” Switch was standing now, one arm gripping the other.

“A friend. A good friend. I grew up with her in Cornwall, and her husband Nick was my best mate in London, still is.” Cormoran paused before adding, “They knew mum.”

“Really?” Switch’s eyes had softened and his hand dropped.

“Yeah. Met you when you were a baby too. But,” Strike said with a wave, “you can ask them about that after brunch. First food.”

Switch excused himself and retreated to the bathroom while Strike sent a quick text to Nick to ask if there was room for one more and a reply quickly followed.

_Yeah, if you don’t eat 3 servings like usual. Who’s coming?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter Strike and Switch will talk and brunch will be had, I PROMISE! And the chapter after that the action should start :) Shanker has some work to do and Wardle and Strike have some trouble to get themselves and him out of :) 
> 
> Side note: Strike likes leaning his head against things so I demand that in the book 5 adaptation he leans his head against Robin as she runs a hand through his hair. Cause they will be together by then. Right? RIGHT?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, slightly later than planned but I had a few days where I didn't really want to be inside Switch's head shall we say :) 
> 
> Big shout out to everyone on tumblr who gave their opinion when I had my 'how would Strike react?' conundrum! Thank you! And consider this chapter dedicated to you all (unless you don't like how I went about it, in which case *slides a cup of tea and biscuits across the table as a consolation prize*)

The drive to Nick and Ilsa’s had been quiet, Switch had played nervously with the radio while they sat in traffic, only stopping when he noticed Strike looking sideways at him. Soon enough they’d arrived, a few minutes ahead of Robin, and Switch had looked wide eyed and pale while standing on Nick and Ilsa’s doorstep. Strike had text Nick back with a quick summary of the situation but he had to stop himself from rolling his eyes when his best mate pulled the door open and greeted them both as if they’d crossed the Sahara.

Now, Ilsa had Switch rooting through the fridge in search of a jar of olives while she watched him from where she was leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Have you always lived in London then Switch?” She asked, instantly feeling Strike’s eyes on her.

“Mostly.” He mumbled, his head stuck in the fridge.

“Anywhere near here? We could have bumped into each other at the shops or...” Ilsa began in a cheery tone but trailed off as Strike glared at her.

“No, just, uh, mostly North London.” He explained, a forced smile on his face as he finally found the jar of black olives and shut the fridge door before walking over to where Strike stood beside Nick.

Nick and Strike both looked down just as Switch reached across to place the jar of olives on the counter. His sleeve rode up just enough to reveal a scattering of thin dark red scars on the inside of his wrist and when Strike looked up he saw Nick’s smile fall away and his eyes darken. A flash of images clicked into place in Strike’s mind; the tension every time Switch pulled at his sleeves - seemingly always aware of how covered he was, the skittish glances at the knife Strike had used making breakfast, and the razor that had been part of the obviously restricted bundle of things in his arms when Strike had first picked Switch up.

Robin was suddenly between them with a hand on Nick’s shoulder.

“Nick, do you have any of that wine left from last week?” She asked. Nick looked between Robin and Strike, things unsaid hanging in the air, and it was painfully obvious to Strike that Nick had instantly recognised the scars.

“I think there’s one left in the box by the...”

“Great, could you get some.” Robin cut in, a smile stretching wide across her face. Nick looked again at Strike and then once at Switch, his face softening. Switch’s posture was tense as Nick moved away in search of wine and Strike watched as Robin didn’t quite meet his eye, instead staying close by Switch.

“I’ll be back.” Strike said gruffly and Robin quickly reached out to Strike but he pulled away.

* * *

After heading for the front door Strike had stopped just short and veered upstairs instead, angrily and roughly pulling himself up the steps. Halfway up he regretted his decision when the need for a cigarette arose and then from nowhere Robin was behind him at the top step.

“Cormoran-“

“You knew?” Cormoran said loudly and Robin pulled him through the nearest door, into Ilsa and Nick’s bedroom.

“It wasn’t my place to tell you.” She quietly replied.

“What if he’d have slit his fucking wrists in the bathroom?” A flash of Charlotte standing beside a stained sink and Leda lying dead upon silk sheets filled his mind.

“He wouldn’t have. Self harm and suicide aren’t the same thing.”

“No? Why, because you learnt it in a classroom?” Strike threw at her and then immediately regretted it. Robin’s nostrils flared and her eyes set in a narrow glare.

“Yes. Which means I’m more qualified that you to give an opinion.” Her words were cool and steady as Strike dropped down onto the bed and ran a hand over his face. He needed a shave, he wanted to sleep.

“You still should have said something.”

“Cormoran-“

“And why didn’t one of the bloody nurses say something? Even that happy go fuckin’ lucky receptionist, someone should have-“

“Cormoran-“

“And why didn’t he tell me?” He asked, all anger gone and his shoulders slumped. Robin was in front of him now, pulling him towards her so his forehead pressed against her stomach. He took a deep breath and inhaled the smell of her perfume.

“Can’t have just been easy.” He muttered, more to himself as Robin sat beside him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like a twat.” Robin didn’t reply but when Cormoran opened the hand that lay on his thigh she slid her’s inside.

“I want to be there for him, I just...”

“I know, this is a lot. But it’s a lot for Switch too.” She paused before continuing, “And he really just needs you to be supportive, you don’t have to understand everything just... be there when he needs you.”

“And then what?”

“Just listen. And reassure him. And then ask him what he needs and take it from there.” Robin’s hand squeezed Strike’s and he let out a sigh. Robin put her head on his shoulder and her soft hair tickled his cheek when he leaned against her.

“I’m sorry for being a twat.” He said as he shut his eyes and lingered in the solid warmth of Robin by his side and the smell of her hair.

“I forgive you.” Robin replied as she snuggled closer into his side.

They sat in silence, the murmuring from below and the clatter of cutlery and opening of cabinets the only distant sounds.

“Are they handcuffs?” Robin blurted out loudly, her eyes on the dresser in front of them.

“Oh god.” Cormoran sighed after taking one look at the pink and fluffy item and standing to leave, Robin left snickering behind him before following him downstairs.

* * *

Strike and Robin returned to the kitchen to find Nick opening various tubs of hummus while Ilsa poured olives into a bowl.

“Where’s Switch?” Strike asked.

“Outside with the cats.” Ilsa explained with a soft smile.

“I’ll just uh...” Strike motioned towards the patio doors and then headed out, Robin giving his hand a brief squeeze before he broke contact.

Switch was sitting on the low wall at the end of the garden, one cat in his lap and the other on the wall beside him purring as Switch rubbed circles under his chin. He looked up when Strike approached and then back down at Ossie who uncurled himself and then scattered with Ricky as Cormoran sat down heavily on the wall. A moment passed with Strike stretching his leg out in front of him and Switch watching from the corner of his eye.

“I...” Switch began and then faltered. He looked away and then back, his hands twisting together.

“I can leave if you want.”

“What?” Strike asked, not expecting that to be Switch’s opening remark.

“I know people don’t... You don’t have to deal with this, if you...” Switch’s voice trailed off and Strike heard him take a deep breath from where he sat looking back towards the house.

“Switch-“

“I don’t want this to end yet. But... but I get it. People get tired of me. I get it. It’s alright.”

“Switch.” Strike sighed and rubbed a hand across his forehead. He thought of Robin and her hand in his earlier.

“Look, I don’t understand... why you do that to yourself,” an image of Charlotte crying in the doorway rushed through Strike’s mind, “and I don’t know if I ever will, but I can listen. And you can tell me what you need.” Strike finished awkwardly.

As Strike watched Switch’s eyes roam around the garden in front of them he was struck by how much the memories of Charlotte had clouded his thoughts of Switch. He had avoided the conversation, had wanted to run, not wanted to deal with this all over again, but now with Robin’s voice in his head he looked at Switch and imagined Jack, or Nick or Shanker or Dave or even Wardle, not that he’d ever admit to the last one. He looked at Switch’s hands twisting in his shirt sleeves, all scars hidden beneath and who knows where else, and realised that he and Charlotte couldn’t be more different.

“Really?” Switch asked, his eyes going only as far as Strike’s shoes.

“Yes. Well, those are Robin’s words really, but I mean them. I promise.” Strike said and then watched as Switch rubbed a hand across his eyes.

“We’ll only have a problem if you don’t support Arsenal.” Strike said, earning a huff of unsteady laughter from Switch.

“You do?” Switch asked.

“Yep. And uncle Ted. So no pressure.” Strike said with a raised eyebrow.

“They’re not too bad, I guess.”

Strike frowned and then shook his head when Switch smiled.

“Does uncle Ted live near?” He asked and Strike was reminded of how much Switch had missed.

“No. He lives in Cornwall with aunt Joan. Where mum grew up.” _Before leaving at the first chance_ , Strike thought.

“How much do you know about us?” Cormoran asked and Switch’s face fell.

“Not much. I googled your name once-“

“Dangerous.” Strike remarked as he pulled out a cigarette and began to light it.

“Apart from that... I found Lucy on Facebook once but her page was private.”

“Right. She’s married, got three boys.” Strike said as he blew out a cloud of smoke and put his matches away, silently hoping that everything would go smoothly whenever Lucy met Switch.

“Do you see Joan and Ted much?” Switch asked.

“Not as much as I’d like.” With that answer Switch deflated slightly and Strike wondered if it were possible for Switch to have a memory of Ted walking up and down a Cornish beach with him bundled up in his arms.

“They’d like you though.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Strike drawled out, “Ted likes anyone who can help him dig a vegetable patch or clean the boat. And I’m not much use with digging anymore.” Strike added with a nod to his leg.

“I can help with the gardening then.” Switch said, a small grin creeping onto his face.

“Good. That’ll earn you an extra slice of aunt Joan’s Victoria Sponge.”

Strike watched as Switch’s face lightened and he looked the most relaxed he’d seen him.

“Come on, I’m hungry.” Strike said as he rose stiffly from his seat on the low wall.

“You’re always hungry.” Switch said as he joined Strike in walking back to the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! We shall move on with Shanker's side of the story next time :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moral of this story is never trust me when I mention a time frame for the next chapter :) Apologies though, I was sick and then just not bothered about writing ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Robin turned further into her pillow and stretched her legs down the length of the bed. Her foot found a cold spot at the corner of the bed and she quickly pulled it back under the thick duvet. The mattress shifted beside her and she felt the duvet being tucked around her shoulders. Robin turned over onto her stomach and towards Cormoran’s side of the bed.

“Morning.” He said, his voice rough but robin could see that he had been awake a while, all the cloudiness of sleep having vanished from his eyes.

“Morning.” She replied as he raised his arm so she could snuggle in closer, resting her head on his chest and laying an arm across his stomach.

“It’s raining.” He said, his eyes on Robin’s bedroom window as he absentmindedly ran his fingers up and down her arm.

“Of course it is.” She groaned.

The room was quiet, the rain wasn’t heavy and only tapped lightly at the window and the sound of Cormoran’s heart beat steadily in Robin’s ear.

“I think I’ll ring Switch.” Strike said as he reached across to where his phone lay on Robin’s bedside locker.

“It’s,” Robin caught a glimpse of the time on Strike’s phone, “not even nine.”

“So?”

“So, it’s early. And Sunday. Let him sleep.”

“I’ll just send a text then-“

“Cormoran.”

“What?”

“You have to trust him.” Robin said, pulling herself up onto one elbow so she could look at him more easily.

“How do I know if I can?” He replied, eyes still on the window but Robin knew he wasn’t really seeing the grey clouds outside.

Brunch with Nick and Ilsa had gone well, Switch and Nick had bonded over a desire to visit Scotland that had ended up with Switch taking screenshots on Nick’s phone of various bothies in the north while Nick drew a very questionable map. A tipsy Nick eventually commanded Strike to teach him how to use a compass, despite not owning one, and Robin and Ilsa had watched fondly as Switch grinned while the endeavour devolved into Strike yelling at Nick that no, they couldn’t practice in the garden with a compass drawn on a piece of paper.

“Wait until eleven, then send him a text.” Robin suggested.

On the way home they had agreed that Strike would spend the night at Robin’s and Switch could have some space of his own at the flat in Denmark street. Strike was torn, normally jumping at the chance to spend the night at Robin’s place but he was worried about leaving Switch alone for the night. He had woken early and spent the time imagining the ways in which everything from his razor to his crutches could be used by Switch to harm himself.

“He was fine last night when we left him.” Robin argued and Strike knew she was right. Switch had enjoyed Ilsa’s cooking and been animated in his discussions with Nick, and Ossie and Ricky had spent more time brushing against his legs and creeping into his lap than they had ever spent near Cormoran. Strike couldn’t watch him all the time, and even if he did Switch could still find ways to evade him for the seconds he would need to do himself harm.

“You’re right.” Strike said with a sigh.

“Aren’t I always?” Robin asked as she threw a leg across Strike, her knee coming up to rub against his inner thigh.

“Eleven is a long time away.” Robin whispered and Strike quirked an eyebrow as he looked down at her.

“Really?”

“Mm. Two whole hours.” She replied, pressing herself closer so her stomach was against his hip.

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“Well, in that case.” Strike said and in one swift movement he grabbed her leg so she stayed close and flipped her over so he was on top. Robin smiled as she felt his warm hips press against hers and sink them both further into the bed.

* * *

“Have you talked to Shanker today?” Vanessa asked as she put a coffee on Wardle’s desk.

“No.” He mumbled, eyes scanning a report he’d just been emailed.

“Strike?” Vanessa asked.

“No, I’ll ring him later.”

It was quiet as Vanessa looked around their floor. The work load on a Sunday at Scotland Yard wasn’t much different from an average weekday but the building always felt a little quieter somehow. The number of support staff was cut in half on weekends and tea breaks seemed to increase for those at their desks as the day wore on. Vanessa looked down towards the dark grey door at the end of their open plan office where a small makeshift sign read ‘IT’. On weekdays when she wasn’t traipsing across London with Wardle Vanessa usually had lunch with Sophie, a forensic IT specialist who had amicably broken up with the chef in the canteen downstairs last month. Thankfully she hadn’t stopped slipping Vanessa and Sophie an extra roast potato or larger helping of pudding.

“What?” Wardle asked when Vanessa sighed.

“Nothing.” Vanessa turned to her own computer and opened up her email before logging onto the intranet. Vanessa jumped slightly when a bar of chocolate landed on the keyboard in front of her. She turned but Wardle was already back looking at his computer and sipping the coffee she had brought him.

“Thanks.”

“It’s bribery.” Wardle replied.

“Bribery for what?”

“It’s your turn to meet with the coroner.”

“Oh come on, he’s-“

“I went last time.”

“But he’s a creep.” Vanessa spat.

“Not according to HR.” Wardle said as he slumped back in his chair. The new coroner had been appointed a year and a half ago and had already racked up an impressive amount of complaints by female staff members and one young male clerical worker.

“Fine, as long as you’ll be my alibi.” Vanessa replied as she pulled a jumper on over her shirt.

“For what?”

“For when I stab him with his own scalpel.” She replied as she bit off a chunk of her KitKat Chunky, grabbed her notes on their murder victim and headed off.

* * *

“Stop it!” Robin said as she batted Strike’s hand away and quickened her step.

“I can’t.” He replied, his tone full of innocence, and his hand already reaching forward to slide along her thigh where she was rushing ahead of him up the stairs. Robin laughed and turned, stopping dead in her tracks and looking down at him with a smirk. Strike moved up another step and came to stand at eye level with Robin but just as he moved to put a hand on her waist she stepped up.

“Ah, ah. No unprofessional conduct at the office Mr Strike.” She said with a glint in her eye.

“Mr Strike?” Cormoran said with a raised eyebrow as a certain amount of heat began to pool below his belt. Robin struggled to hide a smile and then turned and ran up the rest of the steps in a flash.

“Not what you were saying last week.” Strike mumbled to himself as he reached the top.

“What?”

“Nothing, Ms Ellacott.” He replied with a mock salute as they reached the office door.

When Robin put her key in the door she found it unlocked and at once Strike stepped between her and the door. There was a faint noise from inside and then Strike shoved the door open in one quick move and stepped inside.

“Switch!” Strike shouted and there was the sound of a spoon falling to the floor in a clatter. Robin stepped around Strike to see that Switch was standing at the kitchenette with a mug of tea in his hand and a shocked look on his face.

“You don’t have any sugar.” He blurted out and robin saw the jar of sugar open beside him and a spoon on the floor with white granules scattered around it.

“Christ.” Strike whispered and then moved into the office and Robin saw him eye Switch up and down.

“Everything alright?” Strike asked.

“Yeah, Yeah. Just making tea.” Switch explained as he picked up the spoon and tidied away the sugar.

“Good. How did you-“ Strike asked as he gestured towards the door.

“You have a spare key in the cutlery drawer.” Switch stated and Robin looked at Strike.

“Well no one is gonna break into the flat to steal cutlery.” Strike offered as an explanation of his choice of hiding place.

“I’ll just go and-“ Switch began but Robin stopped him and held up a paper bag with ‘Paul’s’ written on the front.

“Stay, we’re having a working lunch and Cormoran bought too much as usual.”Robin explained as she moved to the kitchen and grabbed a knife to cut up the three large sandwich baguettes Strike had insisted on buying.

“What are you working on?” Switch asked as he moved to sit on the couch.

“Shanker was found at a murder scene so now we owe Wardle a favour.” Strike sighed as he pulled out some individually wrapped chocolates.

“Did he kill someone?” Switch asked with a look of shock on his face and his mug of tea hovering in front of his lips.

“Shanker? No.” Strike replied casually and then turned to Robin, “Have you still given up chocolate?” He asked, holding one of the round sweets towards her.

“When did you grab those?” She asked.

“At the till.” He explained and then threw one at Switch as Robin rolled her eyes.

“Want one?” Strike asked, turning back to Robin.

“No thanks, no chocolate for me until girls night,” Robin explained, pausing in her lunch prep, “then I’m going to stuff my face with as much Ben & Jerry’s as I can find.”

“Phish food or chocolate brownie?” Switch asked, suddenly interested.

“Both.” Robin replied, mouth beginning to water as she watched Strike rip open another chocolate.

“All we had for dessert on the ward was rice pudding or a stale brownie. I would have killed for a tub of phish food.” Switch smiled lopsidedly, reminding Robin of Strike when he was at his most relaxed.

“I’ll have to smuggle a tub away from Ilsa’s then.” Robin smiled and walked overto the couch with the divided up baguettes, dragging her office chair with her. Strike’s phone buzzed and Robin and Switch watched as he frowned.

“Wardle.” Strike explained and then scrolled through the email he’d received while Switch and Robin began to eat.

“This is great, thanks.” Switch said to Robin as he wolfed down the food.

“Next time we’ll get the olive bread.” Robin said as she bent and grabbed a bag of crisps from the paper bag.

“You hate olives.” Strike argued around a mouthful of food, eyes still on his phone.

“I like olive flavoured things, just not olives.” Robin explained and Strike just furrowed his brows while Switch watched the two of them and smiled.

“Anyway, Wardle sent this.” Strike handed Robin his phone and turned his attention back to lunch.

Switch sat up a little straighter when he caught sight of an image on the phone.

“Can I see?” He asked and Robin paused before passing him the phone.

The image was clearly taken from a CCTV camera and showed a man standing on the edge of a footpath smoking a cigarette while talking on the phone. He was large in stature and had the Peaky Blinders inspired haircut that almost every man under forty seemed to be sporting.

“That’s in Bloomsbury.” Switch said and Strike grabbed the phone from him.

“Where?”

“Near Green Park tube station. Look,“ Switch began, zooming in on the image, “there’s the corner of that fancy cinema near the Saudi embassy.” Switch explained as he pointed out the bright lights.

Strike squinted at the image as he tried to imagine the road before Switch grabbed the phone back and explained some more.

“There’s the bottom part of the shop window of that vintage book shop. And you can see he’s on the Green Park side of the road, otherwise you’d see the lights of the restaurants more clearly.” Switch finished and then noticed Robin looking at him.

“What?”

“Nothing, just, ever considered a career as a private investigator?” She joked and Switch smiled self-consciously.

“I went on a walk around there one night. Lost track of where I was and nearly trespassed into the Japanese embassy nearby.” He smiled awkwardly.

“Well, that saves us some work.” Strike said as he began to stab a finger at his phone and write a reply to Wardle as Robin looked between the two men and smiled to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So lots of talking and not much action! This whole chapter was building up to the night club scene cause I've been listening to 'Sweet Nothing' by Florence/Calvin Harris on repeat as loud as possible but then I thought maybe we were doing too much hopping around. So the next chapter will be the night club scene. Finally a bit of action!
> 
> P.S. the 'nearly trespassing into the Japanese embassy' story is real. Not the only embassy I've nearly walked into by accident. #Londonhastoomanyembassies


	10. Chapter 10

“Wasn’t there a guy with a dog that you liked the look of?” Ilsa asked as she stretched across to the coffee table to grab another chocolate.

“He doesn’t have a dog, just works with the dog squad.” Vanessa explained with a sigh before continuing, “He actually prefers cats over dogs.”

“He’s a cat person but works with dogs?” Robin frowned.

“Yeah. Bit of a bore actually. I mean he’s nice, he’s just….”

“…nice.” Ilsa scoffed as she had another sip of wine.

“Nick is nice.” Robin argued and Vanessa threw an amused look towards Ilsa as she snuggled deeper down into the couch.

“Yes, but…” Ilsa began.

“But?” Vanessa prompted.

“Nick is…. kind. There’s a difference. And nice is still nice-“

“You just said it wasn’t.” Vanessa countered, her voice squeaking towards the end.

“I didn’t say nice wasn’t nice, I just _described_ the cat man as nice. There’s a difference.”

“What?” Robin laughed.

“A guy can be nice _and_ funny and sexy and good in bed and whatever else you want. But if they’re _just_ nice, then…”

“They’re just _nice_.” Vanessa added.

“Exactly.” Ilsa agreed before draining the last of her wine.

“Thank god I’m done with dating then.” Robin added as she eyed up the empty tub of ice cream on the table.

“Speaking of Corm, how are things with him and Switch?” Ilsa asked.

“Okay, I think.” Robin replied, her thoughts drifting to Strike and wondering what he was doing while she sat in Ilsa’s lounge with Vanessa and drank the last of the good wine leftover from Christmas.

“Had they really not seen each other since Leda died?” Vanessa asked.

“No.” Robin answered, suddenly uneasy with how much of Strike and Switch’s life she felt comfortable discussing.

“I hope Lucy will be alright, when she meets him that is.” Ilsa added.

“Yeah.”

“What about Ted and Joan, has Cormoran told them?” Ilsa asked and Robin could see the thoughts of a trip to Cornwall filling Ilsa’s eyes with wonder.

“No. Switch isn’t…. well, I don’t think he wants to rush anything.”

“Understandable.” Vanessa said as she pulled a blanket off her legs and stood.

“What’s Corm up to tonight?” Ilsa asked half absentmindedly as she passed her empty wine glass to Vanessa.

“Not getting into trouble I hope.” Robin said with a smile that was only partly forced.

“Famous last words.” Vanessa said as she left the room and went in search of more wine and crisps with Ossie skittering after her.

* * *

Strike took a long drag on his cigarette and let the heaviness of the smoke pause in his lungs before exhaling. He had spent the morning in the office with Robin and Shanker going over images Wardle had sent them of the gang members that he wanted Shanker to ID. Strike had noticed Robin’s dark glances as she watched them pour over the photographs and it was her words to him afterwards, ‘ _remember this is Wardle’s case_ ’, that kept pulling Strike back into the shadows of the street corner he was currently standing on.

After Robin left to meet Vanessa and head to Nick and Ilsa’s for the night, Nick being on late shifts this week, Strike had left Switch in the flat and settled himself downstairs in the office so he could again go through all the information Wardle had sent. Something was nagging at him about the picture that Switch had determined the location of and Strike was almost certain that the smoking man was the same man that appeared in another photograph, this time taken out near Canary Wharf. If so, then he was a major player when it came to importing the gang’s cocaine supply.

They had all agreed that Shanker would give them enough information to ID the big players in the gang whom he knew but nothing specific enough that could get him into trouble, and nothing would happen until Wardle and Vanessa knew the date of the next movement of drugs. When that happened Shanker would think of a reason to get himself an invite to wherever they were cutting up the supply and would confirm for Wardle and Vanessa, who would be waiting nearby, whether the gang members on their list were present.

So there was no reason for Strike to be lurking in a corner of Bloomsbury after midnight in the hopes of catching sight of the smoking man. But he had never been good at twiddling his thumbs, and neither was he content to sit around and wait for others to do the grunt work.

Imagining Robin’s quirked eyebrow as he stubbed out his cigarette under his boot, Strike instinctively went to pull out another one, more out of boredom than desire, when a dark SUV pulled up outside the nondescript club across the road. The tinted windows of the car matched those of the club, a members only establishment that had sacrificed signage and any indicator of what goes on inside for the privacy of its patrons.

Strike quickly headed across the road as the smoking man emerged from the car with a tiny brunette hurrying after him on heels that would have her competing with Strike in height. Coming from behind the SUV as it pulled away, Strike quickly ducked behind the group heading in behind his target. He was just crossing the threshold of the club, music suddenly booming and vibrating through his chest, when a hand grabbed at his shoulder.

“Oih!” Came the now muffled voice of a bouncer and Strike quickly ducked out of the way and past the group ahead of him, almost knocking over a very young looking girl with his bulk.

The music seemed to physically drag Strike through a short dark hallway and out into a large crowded room that swelled as the song reached its crescendo, the drum beat speeding up until it tripped over itself and suddenly it was as though the strobe lighting was shooting off sparks against the wall and firing long beams of blinding light through the crowd as the strengthening beat of the song peaked. Bodies were everywhere and Strike felt as though he was wading through a sea of sirens and monsters as the deafening music and flashes of light played with his ability to track the man from the photograph. The music vibrated up through the floor and Strike felt it buzzing like static through his prosthetic and into his stump. A white blaze of light showered across a doorway and Strike pushed through the crowd quickly, knocking into hands holding drinks and dancing couples as the top of the song pushed over the edge.

Another short corridor gave way to the bar and more dancers, this time mixed with couples in dark corners and those who Strike knew from just a glance had been purchasing their own highs in the smoking area. Looking past the bar Strike caught the eye of the tall brunette and it was her quick but worried glance before darting away that told him his suspect was in that direction.

As the hammering beat of the song finally began to drop back down to earth Strike was greeted by a blast of fresh air mingled with the familiar smell of beer and a distant tang of smoke. The door opened out into a back road, like a grunge version of a Chelsea mews, and Strike had half a second to spot a black SUV before the engine revved and it pulled away into the night with a squeal.

“Fu-“ All breath left Strike as he was shoved from behind and went down hard, the momentum flinging him face first onto the cobblestone ground, its dull edges suddenly becoming sharp as his face, chest, knees and hands bore the brunt.

“Don’t you ever fuckin’ come near my club again mate, you hear me?” Came the booming voice of the bouncer that Strike had earlier shoved past.

Cormoran turned onto his side to look back, half ready to curl up and dodge more hits but they didn’t come. Instead the irate bouncer spat on the ground by Strike’s hip and turned back, slamming the exit door shut behind him.

“Fuckin’ Shanker.” Strike sighed, his stump thankfully not screaming at him but his cheekbone, the palm of his hands and where his belt crossed the front of his hip all suggested an antiseptic wipe wouldn’t go amiss. He lay there for a few seconds with his ears ringing from the quick change from loud music to quiet night, puzzled as to why the smoking man had entered the club only to disappear again so quickly. Strike knew that the brunette had spotted him but only when they were already on their way out. So who else was lurking nearby that the smoking man was trying to lose?

Strike’s phone buzzed and he rolled to one side and fished it, thankfully still in one piece, from his back pocket. It was a message from Robin.

_Night xx_

Strike smiled and then sat up as another message quickly followed.

_Ilsa spilt red wine all over poor Ossie. Tell you 2moro. xx_

He pulled himself to his feet with a grunt and sent a quick reply.

_Might cheer up the grumpy fucker. Night xx._

_CORMORAN!_

Strike smiled to himself imagining Robin’s face. If she was here she’d smack him in the arm in Ossie’s defence and then he’d pull her close and they’d walk on together. Looking around at the darkened road Strike wiped a hand across his bleeding cheek as he set off towards the main road.

_Are you staying with Ilsa?_

_Yeah. Did you and Switch go for a drink?_

_No, tell you tomorrow._

_??_

_Tell you tomorrow. Night xx._

_Night xxxx._

* * *

“What happened to you?” Strike was barely in the door when Switch’s voice met him.

The youngest of Leda’s offsprings was sitting on top of the camp bed in his pyjamas, legs crossed, with a packet of biscuits in front of him and the iPad Robin had lent him balanced in front of a pillow.

“Nothing, what are you watching?” Strike said as he lowered himself into the old armchair with a wince. When he looked up Switch was beside him casting a sideways look at his face reminding Strike of the tipsy office worker that had looked nervously at him for the duration of their tube journey.

“A documentary about global warming.” Switch said simply as he moved quickly to the kitchen and began filling a glass with water.

“I’ve got vegetarian bacon in the freezer if you’ve gone vegan.” Strike said tiredly as he moved in the chair and then winced.

“Thanks.” Switch said warily as he placed a full glass on the coffee table and then hovered nearby glancing at the grazes on Strike’s cheek.

“Any chance of something stronger?” Strike asked with a raised eyebrow and waited for Switch to turn back towards the fridge before standing and undoing his belt. He hissed when his trousers brushed against a scattering of cuts on the front of his hip and pulled on a small patch of dried blood. Switch looked back and then crouched down to pull the first aid box out from under the sink.

Collapsing back into the armchair, Strike took the bottle of beer that was offered and cracked it open while Switch pulled an antiseptic wipe and plasters from the first aid box and passed them to Strike.

He went back to sitting on the camp bed and the sound of a gentlemanly English narrator drifted across the flat as Strike began detaching his prosthetic, the thought suddenly occurring to him that he’d never told Switch where the first aid box was kept and it seemed to be missing items since the last time he’d used it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should be wrapped up in another 2 or 3 chapters.
> 
> Edit: i know the end of this chapter alludes to more struggles for Switch but I don’t think I’ll be going any further with that. I don’t think people are interested in it. But I also didn’t want to make out that it’s all rainbows and uphill after a stay on a mental health ward, cause it’s not. The rest of the chapters will deal with the Shanker/gang storyline.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: self harm is referenced, nothing graphic at all just mentioned but I'm just being careful with the warnings.
> 
> Also, I now realise that it would have been responsible of me to suggest some places to get help juuuust in case anyone reading this is struggling with self harm/injury and would like some help/info. So in chapter 5 I added some websites to the notes at the end. :)
> 
> Aaand sorry for any errors, I kept getting distracted by absolutely everything while trying to proof read lol

“Morning.” Strike called as he entered the office. Robin was at her desk, eyes intently reading something on the screen, but she tilted her head and smiled in expectance of his usual greeting kiss.

Strike, fresh packet of biscuits in hand, walked over and kissed her cheek, almost thinking he’d escaped her questions for another few minutes but as he pulled away Robin looked up and saw the scratches and faint bruise on one side of his face.

“What happened?” She asked, grabbing his stubble-covered chin as she stood to get a better look.

“Nothing, just-“

“Fell over?” Robin asked with a skeptical eyebrow raise.

“Maybe I did.” Strike responded, challenging her and standing still as they both stared at each other.

“How did you fall?”

“My leg.” Strike quickly answered.

“What time?” Robin asked, hands on her hips where she stood.

“What?”

“What time did you fall?”

“Midnight.” Strike replied, eyes moving to the kettle as he felt the force of Robin’s stare.

“What did Switch say?”

“Switch?” Strike asked as he walked over to make a cup of tea.

“Didn’t you wake him up? Falling over at midnight?” Robin asked, a smirk creeping onto her face.

“He... slept through it.”

“And he didn’t see your face this morning?” Robin pressed as she walked nearer to him, her own cooling tea in her hand.

“He...” Strike’s shoulder slumped as he admitted defeat and sighed, “oh alright, I didn’t fall. Not in the flat anyway.”

“I knew it!” Robin said with a smirk as she grabbed the tea bags and Strike switched the kettle on.

“How did you know?” Strike asked, eyeing her sideways.

“Because I know you.” Robin replied as she put a hand on his cheek and turned his face to get another look. There was a faint bruise on his cheekbone and a few red cuts and scratches around it but it looked clean and before Robin pulled her hand away Strike turned his head and kissed her palm.

“It’s fine.” He said as the kettle began rumbling.

“So what did happen?” Robin asked.

“I upset a bouncer.” Strike replied and when Robin frowned he proceeded to tell her the events of the previous night and his suspicions about the smoking man.

“Cormoran.” She said with a sigh.

“What? He didn’t see me.” He argued after a warm and strong sip of tea.

“You don’t know that. What if he’s mates with the owner and as we speak they’re looking at CCTV footage of you following him through the club?”

Strike paused in his next sip of tea, knowing she was right. But there was always a certain amount he was willing to risk for a case.

“Look, it’s fine. Shanker is the one doing all the work anyway. If it does turn out that this smoking man is the guy Wardle is after then it doesn’t matter, we’ll be somewhere else with him and Vanessa when it all comes to a head. What’s the worst that could happen?“

“You get your hands chopped off and buried alive.” Robin said and Strike’s mouth opened and shut with surprise.

“Bit grim for this time of morning Robin.”

“No, I’m serious. Have you checked your email?” She replied before walking back to her desk with Strike following her.

“Vanessa sent this first thing.”

Robin opened the email and quickly scrolled past a short paragraph of writing to show Strike photographs of an unearthed grave. The decomposing body of a naked man was visible in a shallow grave along with police tape billowing in the wind and the boots of a forensics officer.

“Bloody hell.” Strike said quietly.

“The grave was found last month but Vanessa only connected it to Jamie Eldridge’s murder last night. Something the coroner said to her.” Robin explained.

“Well done Vanessa.” Strike said, his thoughts turning to Shanker and his stupidity at being associated, even vaguely, with any gang like this.

“Apparently they’re consolidating their drug dealing territory and this is what happens to anyone that refuses to go quietly.” Robin summarised the email Vanessa had sent.

“Bit medieval isn’t it?” Strike remarked as he caught sight of one of the poor sod’s arms.

“Mm.” Robin agreed and then opened a more recent email as Strike moved to sit on the couch.

“Have you got that spin class today?” He asked.

“Yes.” She replied with a groan that made Strike smile. “Never again are we taking on a client with a wife that’s having an affair with an advanced spin class instructor.”

“I think it’s a great case.” Strike said, an innocent look on his face.

“You just enjoy getting to see my arse in gym leggings on a more regular basis.” Robin replied with a raised brow that Ilsa would be proud of.

“Can’t complain.” Strike said, a cheeky smile slipping across his face.

“I was thinking maybe we could go somewhere with Switch next weekend.” Robin said, changing the conversation.

“Yeah.” Strike replied reluctantly and Robin didn’t miss the change in his demeanour.

“I’m sure he’s feeling a little cooped up in the flat.” She added.

“Probably.”

“We could make a day of it.”

“Sure.” Strike replied, thinking it sounded more like they were organising a day with Jack.

“What does he like to do?” Robin asked as she grabbed her phone from her bag by the side of her desk.

“Watch nature documentaries at midnight.” Strike responded as he stretched his leg out in front of him.

Robin smiled to herself and Strike raised an eyebrow in question.

“It’s nice that he’s... well, so unlike Whittaker.”

“People are often surprised that Jonny Rokeby’s son is a private investigator.” Strike offered and Robin smiled, grabbing her mug and holding it up in the air.

“Well, here’s to men that don’t take after their awful fathers.” Robin said and Strike raised his own mug. As she smiled to herself and no doubt began googling nature related days out on her phone Strike was reminded of how much he loved her.

The sound of the front door upstairs opening and closing had Robin skipping across to the frosted office door.

“Morning!” She called out to Switch after opening the door. Strike heard a quiet greeting returned and then the sound of Switch coming down the stairs.

Robin turned back to Strike as she pulled the door open wider and noticed how his relaxed expression had changed.

Switch emerged from the dark hallway and into the office.

“Morning.” He said and then hovered beside Robin. Strike noticed that he’d changed into the one other jumper he owned, the one he was wearing when Strike first picked him up from the mental health ward, still missing the string from the hood.

“Off out?” Robin asked as Strike sipped his tea.

“Uh yeah. Just...” Switch glanced at Strike before continuing, “meeting Nick.”

“Nick?” Strike blurted out.

“Yeah, just for coffee or... whatever.” Switch explained as his hands twisted in the sleeves of his jumper and he looked between Robin and Strike.

“Well, that’s great. More Scotland research?” Robin asked with a broad smile remembering Nick and Switch’s conversation at brunch.

“Yeah.” Switch said unconvincingly and Strike felt his mood sour.

“Do you want a cuppa?” Robin asked but Switch’s eyes were drawn back to the hallway.

“No, I’m fine.” Switch said, an unsteady smile on his face as he hovered in front of the door.

“I’ll just...” He said as he nodded towards the door and with a small wave was gone.

“Well that’s good.” Robin said, turning back to Strike as soon as she got the door shut.

“Yeah great.” Strike replied and then roughly pulled open a drawer in the filling cabinet beside Robin’s desk.

“Is everything alright?” Robin asked as she came around to stand beside him, eyeing the long-closed case file he had in his hand.

“Fine.”

“So why are you suddenly in a bad mood?”

“I’m not in a bad mood.” Strike said as he put the file back in its place.

“Did something happen between you and Switch?”

Strike looked up and sighed, pushing the drawer shut and leaning against the filing cabinet.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with him.” Strike confessed and felt Robin’s hand come to rest on his back.

Robin’s mouth opened and closed, her own eyes moving away in thought.

“You don’t need to _do_ anything with-“

“Except that I do.” Strike said and Robin saw worry creep across his face.

“Did something happen?” Robin asked quietly.

“There are some things missing from the first aid box upstairs.” He explained, slightly muffled from where his face was cupped in his hand, elbow resting on top of the filing cabinet.

“Oh.” Robin said quietly.

“I mean I don’t keep count but I only refilled it at the start of the month. And despite what you think I don’t have to use it that often.” Strike said, an eyebrow raised as he looked down at her.

“No, you use the one down here.” Robin sighed before continuing, “Poor Switch.”

Strike grunted and then turned back to grab his cup of tea.

“Maybe the knife slipped when he was making a sandwich?” Robin offered.

“Mm.” Strike replied unconvinced.

“Maybe that’s why he’s meeting Nick. That’s a good thing, right?” Robin asked, her face brightening somewhat.

“I guess.” Strike said dejectedly and Robin came close enough for Strike to rest a hand against the small of her back.

“Are you alright?” Robin asked him.

“Yeah, I’m not the one...” His voice trailed off and Robin pulled him close, her arms around his waist and chin resting against his chest.

“It’s ok to not be ok.”

“You sound like one of the royals visiting a mental health charity.” Strike remarked and felt the huff of laughter from robin vibrate through his chest.

“It’s still true.” She argued.

“Mm.”

“Maybe you could talk to Nick as well?” Robin suggested and Strike pulled back to look at her.

“He’s not a psychiatrist.”

“I know, but he might still have some ideas. Every little helps.”

“Now you sound like Tesco.”

Robin laughed and then pulled away, playfully smacking Strike in the chest and then turning back to her desk.

“Come on, we’ve got a date with Wardle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking there's probably another two chapters in this. Hoping to perhaps finish it or at least get another chapter done by easter. I do now have a zine addiction though! lol


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are moving along!

“So there’s no need to involve Shanker after all then.” Strike said as he sat on the corner of Wardle’s desk to rest his leg.

Wardle had shown them the evidence currently scattered across a large table in one of the Met’s meeting rooms that Vanessa was slowly piecing together. She’d tentatively connected three more murders to the gang they were currently investigating and Wardle was working on tracking the wider group of drug dealers and hit men.

“I didn’t say that.” Wardle responded and Robin watched as Strike’s face hardened.

“I’m not having Shanker involved with this kind of gang, he’s already risked enough, and not when you’ve got enough to go after them without any outside help.”

“We still need him to lead us to the shipment of drugs. That’s the direct link between these murders and the bloke you chased through a nightclub.” Wardle muttered what was probably an insult under his breath as he finished.

“Isn’t there another way to connect him to the drugs? It is his gang that’s selling the stuff after all.” Robin asked, her own worry about the repercussions this could have for Shanker matching Strike’s.

“As much as it pains me to say this, some criminals do actually have more than two braincells. He’s made sure to cover his tracks, everything we have is just guess work. Guess work I’d bet my house on, but guess work none the less. Ideally, we need to catch him in the act.” Wardle explained.

“If he covers his tracks so well what’s to say he’ll get anywhere near the shipment of drugs.” Strike countered, masking his annoyance by casting an eye across the various forms and files scattered on Wardle’s desk.

“Rumour is he’s a control freak with trust issues, has to have everything accounted for in front of him.” Wardle said as he held Strike’s gaze.

Strike looked from Wardle, a smirk on his face with just a hint of an entreaty, to Robin, who appeared as resigned as Strike himself.

“Alright. But I’m not happy.” Strike said and Wardle’s face instantly glowed.

“Just the way I like you Gooner.” Wardle replied as he grabbed his phone and Robin rolled her eyes.

“I want a vest on Shanker and you lot seconds away if anything goes down.” Strike outlined his conditions.

“Got it.”

“Not down the road, not minutes away, I mean the same building. Yes?” Strike asked, his eyebrows raised with a glare sharp enough to pierce.

“Yeah, yeah, relax. Christ, you dating him now too?”

“I’m serious Wardle, if-“

“Come on, I’m hardly gonna let Shanker get killed and have you on my back for life am I?” Wardle said and then started searching through his top desk drawer as he dialled Vanessa’s number to summon her from the depths of the evidence storage unit.

“Come on.” Robin said as she pulled Strike by the arm and Wardle tipped his head as a goodbye.

* * *

“I can hear you sighing from here.” Robin shouted from her tiny bathroom. Strike was currently lying on her bed staring at an old damp spot on the ceiling, the bathroom and bedroom doors open on account of Robin’s flatmate being out at work for the next few hours. He had met Robin a suitable distance from her spin class and they had made a right pair walking home, Robin’s legs feeling like jelly and his bad knee giving out as they walked the twenty minutes it took to get to her flat.

“Shanker’s never gonna let this one go. I’m gonna have to do every favour he asks for the next year.” Strike frowned.

“Wardle is the one using him.” Robin stuck her head around the bedroom door as she continued, “Anyway, if he doesn’t do it he’ll have Wardle breathing down his neck during every _perfectly legal_ business deal.” She finished and then disappeared again.

Strike just murmured an agreement.

“I wonder if Switch is still with Nick.” Strike said quietly, more to himself than to Robin.

“What?” Came Robin’s voice, echoing from the bathroom.

“Nothing.”

“I think my legs are actually on fire.” Robin declared and Strike smiled.

“What, you didn’t enjoy your spin class then?” He called as he heard her turn the tap off in the bathroom.

“No!” Came the strong response from down the hall.

Strike raised his bad leg from where he lay and bent his knee in an attempt to work out some of the stiffness. He was debating whether or not to take his prosthetic off. It was only just after six but they were both technically done with work now that Robin had returned from her spin class with their client’s cheating wife. He was still debating whether he would stay the night, the fact that he hadn’t talked to Switch since he left to meet Nick weighed heavily on his mind. He was already itching with the urge to ring Nick.

“Do you think Nick’s friend Richard would like Vanessa?” Robin asked out of the blue when she entered the bedroom but Strike’s attention was solely captured by what she was, or was not, wearing.

“His… who’s what?” Strike asked as he watched Robin walk over to her chest of drawers and pull open the second drawer.

“Nick’s friend Richard. The guy he met at some conference thing last year. He came to that picnic Ilsa organised last month.” Robin explained as she rooted around for a tub of body scrub she’d thrown into her drawer after her last shopping trip with Ilsa.

“The park, what about it?” Strike asked and Robin spun around to see he was raised up on his elbows and his attention was clearly not on what she had to say.

“Cormoran!”

“What?” He asked, his eyes now on hers.

“Did you even hear what I asked?” Robin asked as she stood to face him with her arms crossed.

“How am I supposed to concentrate when your wearing a sports bra and nothing else.” Strike explained with a cheeky smile creeping onto his face and Robin just rolled her eyes.

“Well stop thinking with your own dick and start thinking about Nick’s.”

“What?” Strike blurted out, the smile falling from his face.

“Nick’s friend. Although I think Ilsa is the only one that calls him Dick.”

“Why, is he a twat?”

“No, it just annoys Nick.”

“Oh.”

“So do you think he’d like Vanessa?”

“I only spoke to him the once. Can’t see why he wouldn’t though.” Strike said as he sat up straighter and watched Robin turn back to search through her drawer.

“I think it might be in the bottom drawer.” He suggested.

“You don’t know what I’m looking for.” She shot back and heard the bed creak as he stood.

“I still think it might be in the bottom drawer.” He said and she felt him move closer behind her.

“Really?” Robin asked innocently as Strike’s hands came to rest on her hips.

“I _am_ a detective.” Strike explained and Robin smiled at his blatant advances as his hand came around to trail up her stomach.

“Are you trying to seduce me Mr Strike?”

“Always Ellacott.” He whispered, his lips now close to her neck.

“I need to shower.” Robin said, even as her hand came up to cover one of his where it ghosted across her ribs.

“No you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. I’m all sweaty and-“

“You’re perfect.” Strike said as he walked her closer to the dresser, his legs directing hers and one arm wrapped around her from behind.

“Cormoran.” Robin said and she could hear the smile in her voice.

“Robin.” He replied and dropped kisses along her neck as she felt him harden where he was pressed against her backside.

“I guess I could,” Robin paused as he hit a sensitive spot just below her jaw, “shower after.”

“Definitely.” Strike said and with that he spun her around and then they were on her bed, Robin thankfully below as her legs reminded her of the forty minutes she had recently spent on a spin bike.

Just as she began peeling her sports bra off and Strike wrangled with the buttons of his shirt a vibration came from his trouser pocket and Robin stilled.

“Maybe you-“

“It’s nothing.”

“What if it’s Wardle?” Robin asked, as reluctant as Strike to stop but aware that something could be about to happen involving Shanker.

Strike let out a long growl as he fished his phone out and collapsed beside Robin on the bed. Shanker’s name was displayed across the green flashing screen and Strike sighed as he answered.

“You better be about to tell me that the drugs have come in.” Strike said by way of greeting. Robin, naked, was lying against him now and had begun to rub her foot back and forth along the one calf he owned that still had nerve endings.

“Jackpot Bunsen.” Shanker replied in slightly hushed tones.

“What, really?” Strike said and Robin sat up.

“Yep. There was talk of a big supply comin’ on the market, if you catch my drift.” Shanker’s rough tones became more hushed.

“Alright Sherlock. When?”

“Now.”

“What?” Strike sat up suddenly, rocking the bed and causing Robin to pull herself up to listen in to the phone.

“You goin’ deaf in yer old age Bunsen.” Shanker joked and then Strike heard the loud noise of an engine.

“Where are you?” Strike said as he stood and grabbed a pile of clothes on the chair in the corner of Robin’s room before mouthing ‘ _get dressed_ ’.

“About to watch it all go down.”

“Christ!” Strike muttered and then he was making a beeline for the kitchen to grab his keys while Shanker filled him in on his location and Robin quickly pulled clothes and running shoes on.

* * *

He could just about make out a group of five men all gathered around the back of a van where it had reversed into an abandoned warehouse in Battersea. Shanker was crouched low behind a partition wall that had crumbled away until it formed just a long five foot high wall between the main open space of the warehouse and another section that was probably once an office.

He had recently contacted an old associate, one who used to be just another drug addict but who was now making his way up the ladder as Southwark’s top dealer. Shanker had made conversation with the man in a pub, passing remarks and anecdotes about what he had heard from his contacts about changes to the local gang’s territory, when a new shipment had been mentioned, one that had been cut differently to allow the cocaine to stretch further but without the mixture becoming too lethal for customers. A win for everyone.

He had found out the location and time about twenty minutes before the shipment was due for delivery and so here he was, waiting on Strike to arrive with Wardle in tow before he either got discovered or the gang dispersed on their merry way. He had to respect the audacity of the gang, the men weren’t exactly in a hurry to move on, instead passing jokes and samples around.

Shanker’s phone buzzed in his pocket and at the same time that he pulled it out he caught sight of movement outside to his left where the bottom of a corrugated iron wall had given way.

* * *

“You’re staying here.” Strike said with force as Robin followed him closer to Wardle and Vanessa’s car.

“Cormoran-“

“It’s not up for debate. This isn’t a client of ours, this is a serious-“

“I’ve tackled murderers to the ground, I think I can-“

“Robin!” He turned and there was fire in his eyes that Robin had only seen hints of before.

“This could turn into anything, a gun fight for all we know, and you’re not trained for that.” He continued. Robin opened her mouth to respond, wanting to say _neither are you_ but then remembering that this was something he was very much trained for. She sometimes failed to imagine Strike on a battlefield, failed to reconcile the image she had of him traversing London as a detective in a wool coat with a man in camouflage armed with a rifle and more.

“Alright?” Wardle asked as they came closer. He was quickly pulling on a bulletproof vest while Vanessa quietly radioed back to the uniformed officers in cars further behind on the side road that led to the warehouse.

“Yes.” Strike replied firmly.

“Well, you two can stay-“

“Robin stays, I’m coming in until Shanker is out.” Strike asserted and Wardle looked to Robin and back to Strike.

“You don’t trust me to get him out?” He asked, one eyebrow pulling upwards.

“I don’t trust that he won’t get carried away and do something stupid.” Strike explained, hoping that Wardle would hear the weight behind his words, that this was Shanker and it was partly Strike’s fault that he was involved and also that he owed Shanker a lot more than his life.

“Alright-“

“Wardle!” Robin began but was cut off.

“But nowhere near the front, you stay behind-“

“Got it.”

“I mean it Gooner, I don’t want to be scraping your brains off my nice jacket.” Wardle said and then threw an apologetic look towards Robin who had paled slightly.

“Didn’t know you cared.” Strike responded with a smirk as he stepped towards the back of Wardle’s parked car.

* * *

Shanker cursed as he once again missed what was said between the group. They were speaking just low enough that he could grab bits and pieces but not make sense enough of the majority. More movement outside to his left had him watching the group closely to see if they had noticed anything but so far there was no sign. A grin spread across his face at the thought of Wardle and his officers swooping in and arrested them all, drug dealers were one of his least favourite classes of the London underbelly.

“Shanker.” Came a whisper so quiet that he almost missed it.

Shanker turned and saw Strike standing, shoulder against a wall where he was partly hidden while dark figures, one he recognised as Wardle, moved deeper into the warehouse. Strike motioned for him to come towards him and Shanker gave one look back towards the group to make sure he wouldn’t be noticed before joining Strike further back.

“Alrigh’ Bunsen?” He whispered and Strike grabbed his arm pulling him deeper into the shadows.

“C’mon, we’re-“

Just as Strike spoke, three things happened. The last of the officers disappeared further past them and into the main area of the warehouse taking shelter behind various storage crates, Shanker noticed movement in the shadows behind, and a knife appeared under Strike’s chin and glinted in the dim light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun, dun, duuuuuun!
> 
> Thanks for reading! And for sticking with the fic if you've made it this far :)
> 
> Happy Easter if you celebrate and if not Happy Weekend Perhaps Containing More Chocolate Than Normal? 
> 
> Hope everyone is safe during these plague times!


	13. Chapter 13

“We meet again.” The man whispered across the back of Strike’s neck making hairs stand on end. It was the man he had chased through the club, the man smoking in the photograph, the man at the centre of all of this. The man now holding a knife under his jaw, already leaving little nicks each time he moved that began to sting the skin under Strike’s beard.

Shanker was frozen in front of him, not daring to come any closer to Strike but also not wanting to move away, not wanting to leave him.

“So we do.” Strike said slowly and glanced towards the main part of the warehouse in the hopes of seeing an acknowledging glance from Wardle or another. Unfortunately there was none.

“Now let’s take a nice little walk shall we.” He again whispered, but loud enough for Shanker to hear and his eyes went wide. The vision of Strike being thrown into the back of an awaiting van sent panic shooting through his usually cool mind.

But instead of moving further into the shadows Strike was pushed forward, past Shanker and following in the steps of Wardle and the rest of the police team.

“I think you forgot someone.” Came the shout that echoed through the warehouse and Wardle, Vanessa and those closest to him all swivelled in the direction of the voice. Strike caught the slight shift in Wardle’s appearance that would go unseen to all but the trained eye.

Strike’s leg was already giving out about the way he was having to walk, neck bent as far back as he could get it to escape the sharp edge of the blade while a hand against his back shoved him forward with no allowance given to his usually adapted balance being thrown off.

“Step away.” Wardle said coldly, his gun aimed a centimetre to the left of Strike’s head.

“Step away? Well, where would that get me? No, I’m having fun with your friend here.” He said, moving the knife sideways slightly as if to make reference to Strike but it just made Wardle stiffen even more as Strike winced and felt a trickle of blood begin to make it’s way down his neck.

Shanker was a few feet away now and was glancing between Strike and Wardle, wanting to do something but also not wanting to cause any sudden movement on the part of the man holding a knife to his friend’s throat.

“What’s your plan, huh? Think they’re just gonna let you walk out because you’re giving my beard a trim?” Strike asked, his neck straining from it’s awkward position.

“My plan is to walk out of here with a head start while they try to stop you bleeding to death on the floor.” He said, loud enough for Wardle to hear, his nostrils flaring and gun desperately searching for a clear shot.

“Put the knife down.” Wardle shouted but to no avail.

“Wardle here isn’t going to care about me. When a big shot like you is about to make an escape? No, he’ll have you on the ground before you make it to the door.” Strike said casually, his energy split between keeping the knife away from his skin and not revealing an ounce of worry to the man sheltering behind him. Robin’s face came to mind.

“Is that right?” The smoking man said, moving now to keep the blade tight against Strike’s neck as a rivulet of red made its way down his neck to disappear behind his shirt. Wardle’s aim moved ever so slightly as the man disappeared even more behind Strike and took a step backwards taking Strike with him.

“Maybe we should head off together then?” The man shouted towards Wardle.

“You can try, but they’re not going to waste our Majesty’s finest running around after me.” Strike said.

“Oh no?” The man replied calmly.

“No, see I signed up as expendable when I joined the army. Death of a civilian is one thing,” Strike’s eyes moved to make contact with Wardle’s, a deep look passing between both men before he continued, “but I’m covered under the insurance.”

Two things happened almost instantly. The knife under Strike’s chin wobbled as the man took another step back, and Wardle broke eye contact with Strike just before two shots rang out through the warehouse.

* * *

“What was that?” Robin said, a mute question as she knew it was gunshots she had heard but her shock and worry caused nothing more sensible to come to mind.

Vanessa was on the radio now, turning away to ask for an update just as Wardle’s voice came through loud and clear asking for medical assistance. Robin turned towards the building and felt Vanessa’s tight grip on her elbow stopping her.

“No.” Vanessa said with a glare and without releasing her grip. Suddenly a car along the road towards the other end of the warehouse took off as if chasing someone or something. Vanessa was on the radio asking Wardle for more information as Robin’s heart hammered in her chest.

“Where’s Cormoran? Is he still in there? And Shanker?” The words tumbled out and Vanessa turned away to listen more closely to the dozen conversations going on between officers in pursuit of a vehicle.

Movement to her right had Vanessa turning and suddenly Robin was gone, racing out of her grasp and towards the warehouse. Vanessa took off after her but Robin was through the tiny single door that the others had used in seconds.

Eyes quickly adjusting to the light, Robin found herself amongst shadows and behind containers but getting closer and closer to the jumble of voices that her mind was sifting through in an attempt to find Strike’s.

“Easy, easy, just breathe.” Wardle’s voice drifted closer and Robin felt Vanessa catch up with her as she took off in the direction of his voice.

Her heart leapt into her mouth and then shot down through her stomach as Robin came further into the warehouse and found Wardle, Strike and Shanker.

“Oh god.”

Strike was flat on his back, his good leg slightly bent and moving back and forth in frantic motions while Wardle knelt over him and Shanker stood slightly away, his eyes coming to rest on Robin and she saw he looked grey.

“Cormoran?” Robin cried as she fell to her knees beside him. His eyes were squeezed shut, face red and veins bulging across his temple and forehead. There was blood on his neck but Wardle seemed more concerned with getting Strike’s shirt open. Strike’s coat was lying bunched under him where he fell, and as Wardle pulled his shirt wide open Robin felt the colour drain from her face once more but this time in relief. He was wearing a bulletproof vest, had borrowed one from Wardle’s car before heading inside, and there about halfway down and towards the right side of Strike’s chest was something shiny lodged in the vest.

“Just breathe.” Wardle repeated, worry in his voice that Robin hadn’t heard before, as he undid the velcro straps of the vest and Robin’s hand came to rest on Strike forehead which was creased in pain. He was barely breathing, only taking in air in gasps and then holding his breath.

“Cormoran?” She whispered, her lips quickly coming to press a kiss to his forehead before she looked back to Wardle who was pulling the vest to one side. He hissed slightly when he saw the blooming red mark spreading across the right side of Strike’s chest, visible even under the thick hair that covered it and already seeming to darken in the centre where the bullet hit the vest.

“Who shot him?” Robin asked and Wardle only glanced at her briefly before looking away again.

“I did.” He said and Robin’s eyes went wide.

“What?” Robin blurted out.

“We can talk about this later. Vanessa?” Wardle called over his shoulder.

“Four suspects in custody, car in pursuit of one other. One dead.” Vanessa said with a glance thrown a few feet away and Robin saw the man they had been after lying unmoving on the ground, a puddle of blood slowly growing beneath him.

“Ambulance is four minutes away.” She added.

“Good. Come on Gooner, deeper breaths, you know the deal.” Wardle said, a hand on Strike’s chest as it shuddered.

“Bastard.” Strike’s strained and breathless voice grunted.

“He speaks.” Wardle added and then hovered his fingers above the blooming bruise on Strike’s chest.

“Anything feel broken?” He asked and Robin saw Strike’s eye finally open. They were glassy and dark with pain and her hand sought his where it was grasping at his coat.

“Yes.” He replied, still breathing in fits and starts but Robin noticed them slowing down.

A quick wince passed across Wardle’s face and then his usual facade was back.

“Well next time don’t get taken hostage you twat.” He spat and then quickly grabbed Strike’s arms along with Robin as he began pulling himself upright.

“Cormoran, don’t-“ Robin was cut off by a string of expletives as Strike moved to sit up, his head ending up between his knees and one hand pressed against his ribs as Wardle kept a grip of his shoulder to stop him falling sideways.

Robin remembered Shanker then as she spotted his boots shuffling back and forth in her line of vision as she listened to Strike get his breathing under control with the odd gasp, hiss or expletive thrown in for good measure.

“Shanker, are you okay?” She asked, turning slightly to get a better look at him.

“Yeah, I, uh. Yeah.” He mumbled and she saw that he was still watching Strike with a pale face until suddenly he came alive again and was crouching beside Wardle a second later.

“Alrigh’ Bunsen?” He asked, a hand coming to rest on Strike’s knee.

“You and I,… we’re… quits.” Strike whispered.

Shanker paused, nodded slightly and then, as if remembering himself, a grin crept onto his face before he continued.

“Actually Bunsen, the terms of our agreement were met,” Shanker motioned to their dead target, “bastard _is_ technically in police custody.”

Wardle rolled his eyes as Shanker’s gold tooth glinted in the light of the warehouse. The distant noise of an ambulance drifted into the warehouse and with Robin moving to support Strike’s back where he sat Wardle turned to watch Vanessa crouch down beside their dead target.

* * *

“I just think if they’re switching supplier for scrubs and gowns they could at least find a company that offer festive designs.”

“Is this because you wore a santa suit last year, got too hot in it and then nearly fainted?” The dark haired A&E administrator asked Nick with a raised eyebrow as she sipped her water bottle.

“No.” He replied with a shake of his head.

“Mm.” Prisha replied unconvinced.

“It’s not. I just think it would be good for morale if we could play dress-up a few times in the year, it’d be fun.” Nick explained.

“Nick’s playing dress-up again?” Jess from radiology asked as she appeared from around the corner.

“What? No.”

“I’ve told you before Nick, what you and Ilsa do behind closed doors is not the kind of thing you should be discussing in front of patients.” Jess said and Nick looked to the unconscious man lying on a trolley across the hallway from them.

“Ha, ha.” He replied and then frowned as he heard a familiar voice coming from the entrance to A&E.

“I don’t know why you’re so averse to ambulances.” Robin asked a wincing Strike as he limped between her and Wardle.

“Oggy?” Nick blurted out and then rushed towards the group.

“Nick.” Robin looked relieved and Nick moved to take over from her where Strike had a hand on her shoulder for support.

“What happened?” He asked as he began leading Strike past the rows of blue waiting room chairs and towards the cubicle exam area.

“I’ll be back.” Nick said to Prisha when she looked questioningly between him and Strike.

“Wardle shot me.” Strike grunted as he made a beeline for one of the empty beds surrounded by half open blue curtains.

“What?” Nick exclaimed and his eyebrows shot up as he moved to get a better look at Strike’s front.

“Relax, he was wearing a vest. He’s just being a drama queen about it.” Wardle explained to Nick.

“A drama queen? Go get your gun for me and we’ll see-“ Strike began but was interrupted by Robin as Nick frowned.

“Wardle, shut up. Cormoran, stop talking and get onto the bed.” She ordered and Nick smiled softly as he watched both men capitulate.

“There’s a glimpse into Gooner’s sex life I never needed.” Wardle muttered, receiving a death glare from Robin and Strike.

Nick lowered the bed, noticing the way Strike held his ribs, and between them they got Strike onto it, the head raised and one of his legs bent at the knee to accommodate the stinging pain and tension across his stomach and chest.

“Well, as much as I enjoy seeing the repercussions of your stupid actions-“ Wardle said as he straightened his jacket.

“I’m not the one-“ Strike began to protest.

“I should get going. Paperwork calls.” Wardle finished and with a nod to Robin he was gone.

After a quick explanation about what had happened, Nick disappeared out to reception to give Prisha Strike’s details and get him some painkillers. Robin quickly left, explaining she had to use the bathroom as Strike was left watching her go with a wince that wasn’t entirely from his injury.

* * *

“How’s Strike?” Vanessa asked when she answered Robin’s call.

“An idiot. He’s an idiot.” Robin replied and Vanessa thought she heard the words echo off the walls around her, as if she were in a bathroom.

“Not the brightest idea he’s ever had I’m sure but-“

“There’s no buts, he asked Wardle to shoot him!” Robin responded and then heard plastic skittering off a surface as someone outside the toilet cubicle she was in dropped something.

“Look, he’s an idiot, Wardle’s an idiot, they’re both-“

“Idiots!” Robin filled in.

“-yes. But, he had his reasons. Better he be sitting in A&E right now than god-knows-where after being bundled into a car.” Vanessa reasoned.

“What if Wardle…” Robin’s voice trailed off as she imagined another scene she could have come across when she entered the warehouse.

“Wardle is the best shot in the entire department, always has been. If there’s anyone I’d trust to shoot me in the vest, it would be him.”

“Really?” Robin sceptically asked, her anger at Strike still strong.

“Yes. But never tell him I said that.” Vanessa added and it produced a short smile from Robin.

“Does Strike know that?” She asked and noticed the pause in Vanessa’s answer.

“Yes.”

Robin just shook her head in frustration and rubbed a hand across her face.

“When I saw him on the floor and the look on Wardle’s face, I just… “Robin sighed as her stomach turned at the image her mind conjured. “I love an idiot Vanessa.”

“Love?” Vanessa asked.

Robin smiled softly as her mind gifted her with happier images, Cormoran asleep in her bed as she watched from the doorway while brushing her teeth, Cormoran navigating his way through a packed pub with their drinks and a packet of her favourite crisps she didn’t ask for, Cormoran’s eyes on her at work and at home and in public telling her all she ever needed to know about his feelings towards her.

“Yes, ‘love’.” Robin confirmed.

“Well it’s about time. It’s been five months and you two have loved each other since before your first date and everyone-“ Vanessa’s excited tones spilled out of the phone.

“Okay, okay.” Robin hushed her and then stood. “I should head back, see how he is.”

“Go kiss your lover boy.” Vanessa said and Robin rolled her eyes, knowing she would get this all over again from Ilsa.

“Well, first I’ll kill him for being a reckless idiot and then I’ll kiss him.”

Robin said goodbye to Vanessa and then left the bathroom in search of a vending machine en route to Strike.

* * *

“Ow, watch it!” Strike hissed as Nick pressed a gauze pad to Strike’s neck.

“You’ve lost a leg, how is a piece of gauze painful?” Nick asked as he held the gauze to Strike’s neck and doused solution onto another pad in preparation of cleaning the dried blood from Strike’s neck.

Strike just glared at him sideways with slightly constricted pupils as the pain medication kicked in. The scattering of cuts to his neck had all morphed into one big hurt and his skin felt hot and irritated to the touch.

“How is your leg anyway? You didn’t hurt it, did you?” Nick asked looking down towards his knee and Strike simply shook his head.

“This is below my pay-grade you know, I’m doing you a favour here.” Nick added as he began cleaning his friend’s neck.

Strike sat quietly watching people pass by while Nick cleaned him up and then his thoughts drifted.

“What did you and Switch talk about?” He asked, watching Nick for any signs of subversion.

“Just… some things.” Nick said, his attention focussed on unwrapping a wipe.

“You’ve always been a terrible liar mate.” Strike replied with a raised brow.

“Well it’s not for me to say, is it?” Nick explained and then looked back at Strike.

“He’s a good kid.”

Strike looked away and then back at his friend. “I know.”

“Good. He just… needs some time, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“Time with his family.” Nick added, a soft look on his face.

“Yeah.” Strike said and then thought of the first night when he had brought Switch home. The look of uncle Ted he had when he rolled his eyes and the way he still looked like Leda’s son, even with their time together having been so short. In another life he could imagine Leda still alive, watching two sons grow and clinging to Switch as much as she had clung to him. She’d want Strike to make his way in the world with a look always thrown back to his younger brother, a guiding hand there when he needed it. A part of him ached for the moments with her youngest that were robbed from Leda and he realised that a small part of that ache belonged to the years he had lived with a missing little brother, another piece of Leda missing.

Nick was watching him closely, hands paused in their work and Strike looked away.

“That doesn’t need any stitches.” Nick said and removed his blue gloves and threw them into a plastic basin along with used gauze pads and wrappers.

“Good.” Strike said simply.

“I’ll go see how long the queue is for x-ray.” Nick said as he stood, moving to leave and then turning back.

“You didn’t hear it from me but he thinks Cornwall is really nice this time of year.” Nick said, a slight hopeful twinkle in his eye.

“Yeah, alright.” Strike said grumpily as Nick disappeared behind the blue curtains.

Lulled slightly by the dullness brought to his mind by the painkillers Strike remembered the anguish aunt Joan and uncle Ted had felt when Switch had been taken. He pictured aunt Joan waiting impatiently by the front door, sun on her face and blue trim apron, as his BMW came to a stop outside the house, imagined the look on her face when Switch emerged and wondered how many seconds of freedom Switch would have before she smothered him in a hug, one she would be unwilling to let go for some time. He wouldn’t mind sitting down to Sunday dinner with them all, the view of rolling Cornish hills behind the house and the sea not far away. He’d listen as Ted and Joan gushed about seeing Switch again and then he, Robin and Switch could walk down to the pub. He’d show Switch all the places he should have known from childhood visits and then they’d return and Robin would tease Strike about the remains of his teenage bedroom as they settled down for the night.

Movement to his right brought Strike’s attention back to the present and he looked up to see Robin approaching his bed, her face with more colour than earlier and her coat thrown over her arm to reveal a cream jumper, one of his favourites on her.

“I’m sorry.” He blurted out as a nurse carrying a plastic bowl made her way to a patient a few beds down. Robin just tilted her head to one side as if to say ‘ _well so you should be_ ’ and then sat on the end of his bed.

“Sorry for asking Wardle to shoot you?” Robin asked, her eyebrows raised.

“Well, when you say it like that…” Strike mumbled and then arched his back slightly in an attempt to ease some of the tightness in his chest, instead he just served to spark the fire of pain that licked across his ribs.

“Do you realise how stupid that was? I don’t know who’s worse, you or Wardle.” Robin sighed but Strike noticed she didn’t seem angry.

“Sorry.” Strike repeated and reached a hand towards her, stopping short due to his ribs but Robin caught it none the less and moved up the bed closer to him.

“I thought you’d been shot, for real.” Robin said quietly and scratched at a bit of blood on his shirt.

“Next time I’ll make sure to give you a heads up.”

“Next time? I swear if you-“ Robin began to explode and then noticed the smirk creeping onto Strike’s face.

“Oh very funny.” Robin said and then lightly smacked his thigh before grabbing his hand again, her eyes roaming over the dark bruising continuing to blossom over his chest.

“How did Wardle know your plan anyway?” She asked.

“I was doing a pretty good job as a human shield so he wasn’t going to get a clear shot, but I knew he’d seen me put the vest on so I just said I was covered under the insurance and hoped he’d catch my drift. Once I went down he’d have a clear shot.” He explained, not mentioning the risk he took of having his throat slit on the way down.

“You two are more in tune than you think.” Now it was Robin’s turn to tease.

“Please never say that again.” Strike replied and Robin huffed a laugh at the offended look on his face. A smile crept onto Strike’s face, despite the pain in his ribs and the stinging pull on his neck.

Strike watched as Robin rooted in her coat pocket before pulling out a Mars bar and his smile widened.

“What?” Robin asked.

“You’re perfect.” Strike said, no other words seeming enough in his mind.

“Because I supply you with chocolate?”

_One day you’ll feel like that about somebody._

Strike paused, wanting to say much more but thinking that an A&E bed wasn’t the right location for it. “Yes.” He simply said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I do this every time I write a fic with more than one chapter but I am swearing off multi-chapter fics! Nothing but dream sequence-y one shots from here on out!
> 
> Epilogue should be up tonight, just gotta spell check :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	14. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue to wrap things up (*whispers* although if there are any plot holes then I AM SORRY but there was no sensible planning involved in this fic sooooo *shrugs*)

It was nearly six weeks since Wardle had ‘shot’ Strike and taken out one of the major players in London’s drug supply business. An unending pile of paperwork had eventually led to a pat on the back for Wardle from the chief and Vanessa was deep in piecing together numerous murders connected to the gang.

Denmark Street had seen an increase in cases, as was usually the case when Strike ended up with a mention in the papers, and police cooperation was at an all time high with Wardle passing them a few cases that he couldn’t go any further with but a private investigator certainly could.

It was a Sunday, one of those Sundays that Strike considered perfect because he had woken up beside Robin with an empty day to fill. They now found themselves in Battersea Park at the command of Ilsa who had decided it was too nice a day for anyone to spend indoors. They had all met just beyond the bandstand, Nick and Ilsa with a hastily packed picnic basket and Strike, Robin and Switch with supplies from the park’s Pear Tree Cafe. Robin had invited Vanessa along too and she had arrived shortly after Nick had pulled out his tennis rackets.

“Why do you even have those?” Strike complained as Nick nearly took his head off where he sat in the shade of the trees while trying to return a serve to Robin.

“Some people like to be active on a sunny day you know.” Nick replied and then lobbed another ball in Strike’s direction.

Switch appeared with two cold drinks in time to kick the tennis ball away from Strike’s direction and he settled himself on the blanket beside Strike, passing him a can of Tennent’s.

“Thanks.” Strike replied and watched Switch shut his eyes and turn his face to the sun.

“So, how are things at Nick and Ilsa’s?” Strike asked.

Switch had moved into Nick and Ilsa’s spare room a month previously after they had both decided that Strike’s attic flat was not big enough for two grown men to share.

“Good.”

“Good.”

“I like Nick. And Ilsa’s kind.” Switch continued with a soft smile. “She’s responsible for this.” He said and pointed to his recently cut hair.

“Looks good. Better than anything I ever ended up with.” Strike replied, remembering the few times in the past that Ilsa had cut his hair, basically scalped him, and more out of her desire than his, but as a poor visiting student it had done the job.

“She’s got me sorting through all her old case files.” Switch continued as Robin shouted an apology to a passing cyclist after trying to smash the ball past Nick.

“If you ever need an expert shredder in the office I’m available.” Switch said, eyes open now and taking a sip of his drink.

“Might have to take you up on that.” Strike said, the thoughts of their impending eviction from Denmark Street in the back of his mind.

“Lucy called to remind me about dinner next week, you’re coming right?” Switch asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” Strike said, having received three reminders from Lucy himself this past week.

Strike watched Nick duck to miss a lob from Vanessa and then smiled at Ilsa who was sneaking a drink of aperol spritz and completely missed the shot directed at her.

“I was thinking… the weather’s getting nicer… maybe we could take a trip to Cornwall, to see Joan and Ted.” Strike watched Switch’s face carefully, knowing he had found the last few weeks hard and had been anxious about meeting Lucy, but also knowing a phone-call with Ted had gone well a few weeks previous.

“It can be just me and you if you want, a boys trip. Or Robin can come if you…” Strike ventured.

“I like Robin.”

“Yeah, me too.” Strike smiled.

“Cornwall.” Switch said and Strike watched as his eyes roamed around the grass in front of him as a jumble of thoughts clearly swirled around in his head.

“I’m glad that… you know.” He said, a nervous tone to his voice.

“Me too.” Strike said and ventured to put a hand on Switch’s back where he sat on the blanket beside him. Strike felt awkward and could feel the tension in Switch’s shoulders beneath his hand, but then again Leda had always been the tactile one in the family and they had plenty of time to get used to one another.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Vanessa said as she approached them, “Nick is complaining that Robin and I are too good to have on the same team so you’re up.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment then.” Strike said to Switch as he pulled himself up, a slight wince on his face due to his leg and recently healed ribs.

Vanessa took his place on the blanket and Strike walked over to where Robin stood waiting for him.

“Think you can keep up with the Wimbledon-worthy skills of the team old man?” Robin said with a laugh, her hair in a messy ponytail and her leggings a welcome sight.

“I think I’ve proved more than enough that I can keep it up.” He said with a raised brow and Robin threw the tennis ball at him.

“Come on.” Robin said, directing him into position, or trying to as he kept turning back to look at her.

“What?”

“Nothing, you just look good.” Strike explained, his eyes drifting over her.

“I know.” Robin said with a cheeky grin and then moved his hands on the racket to correct his grip while Nick and Ilsa waited.

Robin looked up and caught Strike’s eyes watching her with a soft look on his face.

“I still owe you flowers.” He said.

“For what?”

“For everything. For putting up with me and everything with Switch and…” Strike voice trailed off as he put a hand on her hip.

“I’ll accept lasagne and chips tonight.”

“Deal.”

“And ice-cream for dessert.”

“I can think of better desserts but alright.” Strike said and watched Robin’s cheeks round as she smiled. He thought about how the sun was a perfect match for her, setting fire to her hair and casting a warmth wide as Robin always did. Distantly he heard Nick call their names but Robin’s eyes were still on his, her hand on his forearm.

“I love you.” Strike said.

“Well good, cause I love you too.” Robin said simply and then stepped closer to kiss him, a quick kiss, her lips warm and soft against his, and another look deep into his eyes and then she was stepping back as a ball came to hit Strike gently in the back of the legs.

“Come on you two.” Nick called and Strike moved back into position to serve, or as he viewed it - smack the ball as close to Nick’s head as he could get it.

A few hits later, the teams now evenly matched as Ilsa on one side and Strike on the other proved to be the weaker doubles partners, Robin hissed at Strike while Nick retrieved the ball.

“Look!” Robin said, her face animated.

There, still in long sleeves despite the heat but smiling and looking more relaxed than Strike had seen him, sat Switch, a grin spread across his face as Vanessa laughed at something he had said and then began talking animatedly herself, her long legs catching the sun where they sat together. There was a warmth in Switch’s eyes and a shy look on his face as he sat with his legs tucked up under him and listened to Vanessa’s story while watching Nick throw the tennis ball to Robin.

Catching Switch’s eye, Strike nodded his head and then turned back to Robin, the love of his life waiting for him while the sun warmed his back and the fizz of the cider slowly flooded through his bloodstream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand we're done!
> 
> If you made it this far then thank you! And if you left any comments/kudos then thank you also! 'Twas a weird/hard one to write but I'm actually alright with how the last three chapters turned out (chapters 1-11? I don't know her, lol) and I'm glad Switch got a happy ending :)
> 
> Hope you're staying safe during these plague times <3


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